Pinky and the Brain
by ssfr
Summary: When one reaches the bottom, the only way to go is up. Taylor takes a few extra seconds in an emergency to help an acquaintance, and breaks the story . . .
1. Chapter 1

Pinky and the Brain

A Worm fanfic.

By

Suika Roberts

Worm is Wildbow's.

 _Quotes from_ _Worm_ _are in italics._

-PatB-

 _"Amy-"_

 _"Go. You're done. Go after Jack."_

 _I hesitated. There was a look in her eyes, dark. She wasn't meeting my gaze._

 _I turned,_ took a step, then turn back, grab her shoulders, forcing eye contact. "Finish fixing Glory Girl. You don't need your rules to be a good person, you are a good person."

She shakes her head, "No, I'm not."

I stare at her, panicked, needing to chase after Jack, but knowing I have to do something about her. One chance, show her that Glory isn't her only choice. Probably I'll never have to know if she rejects me. I bring my right hand up to her face, cup her cheek, and lean in, pressing my closed lips against her so soft ones, "You are."

She blinks, a hand coming up to her lips. A tiny smile contorts her lips, and I turn, _and ran. Atlas was waiting on the rooftop as I ascended the stairs._

 _Too much time lost._

-PatB-

A/N:

So, I started reading Worm in September 2013, after reading some Panacea/Skitter fic on ff.n, probably "Panacea for the Soul."

Reading Worm, however, I found very little support, both Taylor and Amy are too damaged, too broken, too adversarial. Neither of them are in any position to give up enough to make a relationship work . . . except right here, where Amy's about to hit the bottom, and Taylor's just barely above it, where ten seconds sacrificed have the tiniest chance to help.

5 Nov 2017: Started actually writing

23 Nov 217: 25K words written, posting first chunk.


	2. Chapter 2

-PatB-

A few days before Colony 15-1

A girl in a pink t-shirt with a white cartoon mouse on the front and pink jeans wrapped around nice hips walks through the slanting evening light, up to my front door, and knocks.

I look at her through the camera, cute face, freckles, bushy dark hair, nice chest. The first, but not only, girl I've ever kissed. And she's at my door.

"Let her in," I call down, before starting down the stairs myself. She's inside, standing beside Charlotte, dry-washing her hands, looking at the floor, as I clatter down the stairwell. Several of the kids are staring, and the rest are watching a little more circumspectly.

She looks up at me, bashful. I smile at her, "Come upstairs."

She nods, and I wave her up ahead of me. She climbs quickly, and I watch the play of muscles in he legs and butt. She pauses at the sight of my terrariums, with their collections of hard-spinning spiders.

"Next floor," I tell her. She continues to climb.

She stops at the top, looking around at the open-plan space, kitchen at one side, open door to the bathroom, my bed, couch, TV, a scattering of chairs.

"How's Glory Girl?"

"All better," she sighs, "But I need a place to crash, and a new team."

I read her shirt, which has "I think so Brain, but we're already naked" written under the mouse's face. I blink, look up to meet her eyes, let my head tilt just a little to the side, "A new team?"

She sighs, stills her hands again, looks down and to her left, cocking her hips as she twists a little, "Apparently having rules that kept me from repairing my dad until after . . . " She trails off, looks back at me for a moment, looks down at her hands.

"Your mom let the most valuable girl in all of Brockton Bay walk down here by herself?" I ask her, appalled. A healer, much less a bio tinker, of her capabilities, in the hands of any of the gangs . . .

"It was more 'You are not my daughter, get out of my-'" she cuts herself off, blinking, tears in her eyelashes.

I step in, slip my hand between her shoulder blades, and urge her towards me. Her arms wrap around me and she presses her face to my neck and upper chest — I hadn't realized how short she is, the top of her head tucks under my chin with her standing almost straight. She shudders, quiet, hot tears dripping down my neck into my shirt, and I wrap my other arm about her shoulders.

We stand like this for a while, not long enough to make my feet or joints hurt, and I rock us gently from side to side as she cries. Her tears ebb after a while, and some time after that she pulls back a little, "Sorry 'bout that."

"Not a problem," I tell her, catching her eyes and holding them. She glances away, blushing. I feel a small, triumphant smile try to twist my lips, so I kiss her on her forehead, just a quick peck, and pull back, "I'm sure we could find a place for you in the Undersiders."

"No," she says, "I don't want to join your team, I want to join your team," she pauses, blushes even worse, tries again, "I want to work for you, not the Undersiders," she says instead.

"Why?"

"You believe in me," she tucks her head under my chin, speaking into my collarbone, warm breath ghosting over my skin, "You think I'm a good person. You can stop me if I need to be stopped. When you look at me you see me," she shakes her head, "I hope you'll ride herd on my experiments."

After a few awkward moments of just holding her I start to stroke her hair, petting it from the top of her head down her back, and rock her side to side again, "I can fix you a bed here, or we can find you someplace safe in the area."

"Here, please," she says.

"You'll have to share a bathroom."

"I've done that for years."

"Anything you need from your parent's?"

"Nothing I need."

"Costume?"

"Wearing it. Call me Pinky."

I stop twisting side to side, "OK," after a moment I start back up, "Why?"

"Panacea wasn't. Time to be someone else, with different limits."

"Pinky because?"

She pulls back to look me in the eyes, "Pinky and the Brain, from Animaniacs?"

I give her a most eloquent shrug.

"There should be some copies in town somewhere."

-PatB-

A/N: Both of them know what they want, and both are almost willing to say it. Each of them is also willing to risk a lot, because the status quo is pretty bad. What's the worst that can happen? Then end of the world?

Oh, that's penciled in for two years from now . . .

24 Nov 2017: Second chunk ready for posting.

29 Nov 2017: one word changed.


	3. Chapter 3

-PatB-

Amy claims she'll be fine sleeping on my couch. A discussion with the kids found a copy of the first disk of Animaniacs.

This is why Amy is singing along with Dr. Scratchensniff, "The monkey's going to put me in my grave," wrapped around my arm, "Don't know what to say, the monkeys won't do."

As the second episode starts with Yacko singing a song of the nations of the world, I start paying attention as I think they miss Brunei and the song leaves Asia back to Africa, "He missed Brunei," I say.

"Might have," Amy agrees.

The Warners proceed to hassle Albert Einstein, and I hide my face behind my hand, only peeking out occasionally. I start as they sing the acme song, then giggle as they sing it backwards, and bury my face in Amy's hair.

The music for the next sketch starts, "Watch!" Amy says, as the Warners sing "They're laboratory mice, their genes have been spliced."

A bit of technobabble later, "Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"I think so, Brain, but where are we going to find a duck and a hose at this hour?"

I snort, Amy hugs my arm and rubs her face on my shoulder. I glance down, and she's smiling up at me.

After Brain swears off gameshows I look at Amy while the Warners turn to the Wheel of Morality, then back to the TV at "Moral number two: If at first you don't succeed, blame it on your parents." I blink at the TV a moment, then turn back to Amy, "So why are you the crazy one?"

"Because it's funny," she looks away, "and you already took over the city."

I look at the back of her head, and contemplate that while the credits roll. At last I pull her close with my free arm and kiss the top of her head, "You can call me Brain if you want, but I'm not changing my name, OK?"

"What is your name? Other than Skitter?"

I watch her shoulder, her hair tickling at my face, "I thought you knew already."

She twists to look up at me, "Nope. I walked across town to you because I knew you'd look after me. I hoped,' she lets go of my arm, twisting to throw a leg over mine, straddling my lap, her hands on my shoulders, almost eye to eye, "For this, but . . . " she trails off.

"What is this?" I ask gently, keeping a smile on my too-wide lips, "What do you want?"

"Will I get it?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"What you want. What I want."

"Your name."

"Is that a proposal?" I tilt my head as I try to raise an eyebrow.

She blushes from her hairline to the collar of her shirt, "Would you like it to be?" she manages, keeping her voice fairly steady, her eyes limpid pools as she maintains eye contact long past comfortable.

"I think it's a little soon for that," I manage after a bit, my ears warm, "I've never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend," I let myself brush her hair behind her ear, "If you'd like to change that."

"I love that you see me," she says, "I want to find out if I can love you. I want to know your name. I want to kiss you again."

"OK," I say, swallow, "My name is Taylor Hebert. I think I'd like it if you kissed me."

She leans in slowly, maintaining eye contact until just before our lips meet. Her lips seem even softer than when I kissed her. After a few moments I feel her tongue brushing against my lips, and it tastes like mint.

-PatB-

A/N: And here we see a first admission of what Amy wants.


	4. Chapter 4

-PatB-

I wake with a start, trapped, hot, sticky. I grab the hand wrapped around my middle by the thumb, ready to twist and break, and pause at the soft, smooth skin. I twine my fingers through hers, and turn, her breath still smells like mint. She whimpers a little, snuggles closer, dark bags still under her eyes. She is as pretty as Brian, a different pretty, but still. Her tummy is soft, her arms slender, her hands have no calluses, her feet pointed from wearing shoes that are too narrow for her, but the scattered freckles across her nose are cute, and the way she looks at me . . . Her t-shirt has ridden up in the night, exposing that soft tummy, and the bottom edge of her bra, a hint of the waistband of her underwear peeking out the top of her low-rider jeans, her bare feet tucked under the blanket with mine. I brush her hair behind her ear with my free hand, and she squirms, her nose crinkling a little, still asleep.

I watch her sleep for a while, waiting for the alarm, thinking mostly of other things. Dinah. Coil. The Chosen. The fucking PRT.

Amy shifts, the corners of her lips turned up even as she sleeps. I caught the world's most powerful healer, a bio-tinker who can do such amazing things. A little cracked, but serviceable, to paraphrase the poem, maybe the poem meant unserviceable by not fit for company? Now all I have to do is keep her. I brush my thumb over the soft skin of her hands, unroughened by her work, long and slender. She fixed her dad, so she's still working on brains, does she have any rules she follows now, does she want me to impose limits, or is she like me now, always drifting further into the dark?

Coil needs to die, there's no other way to save Dinah . . . unless Amy can take him out? Put him to sleep and disconnect his powers? We'd have to contain him first, hold him down for her . . .

"Taylor, what are you thinking about?" Amy's eyes are open, and I smile at the warm, happy look on her face.

"Do you prefer Amy or Amelia?" I ask her instead of answering. It'd be easier to kill him, and even that would be hard, I finish the thought.

Her smile gets bigger, a glimmer of perfectly white teeth, and she laughs, "I'm sure I'll answer to Amy better, but Amelia's nice, I could get used to it."

I brush my free thumb over the corner of her smile, "Or maybe Claire? Perhaps after Claire Danes?" I wonder, "My friends," I tense, spread out into my swarm a little more, "Loved "My So Called Life."" This isn't even a lie, I realize with a smile, "You're prettier, though."

I'm rewarded with a blush, "Claire would put me a little further from Panacea," she says.

"You walked here without a mask?"

She waves towards her shoes, "A pink bandanna I stole from Vicky, like the rest of this outfit."

"So you've decided to be a Villain?"

"No, but I already am, so I can't really fight it."

I nod, "It's really hard to be a Hero when the Protectorate have decided you're a Villain."

"Or my mom," her happy face melts like cheese as she dissolves into tears, and I cuddle her to my breasts.

After a few minutes she continues, "Before I left she said I was never her daughter, that she never wanted me, that I was a burden from the day she took me, that she always knew I'd turn out bad."

"It sounds like she worked hard for that end," I say, then nuzzle my face into her hair.

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she's an idiot."

Amy's snort of laughter makes me smile into her hair, "And she failed. You've made some bad choices, but you fixed what you could, and I'll help you as much as you need."

Amy pulls back, "What if I need more than you can give?"

"I'll find a way."

Amy looks doubtful.

"Leviathan. The Nine. It might be very hard, but I can find a way, with a little help from my fr- team," I break off the song title and substitute truth.

Her lips twist a little, and she leans down, pressing her lips to mine. A moment later, while I'm still a little breathless, she says, "Even if we don't work out as a couple, I shall always be your friend."

My breath catches, and the tears start, I want to believe her so much. It is hard, but I pull back into myself, let the tears flow, the fear, the betrayal, all of the pain associated with that word, let it show on my face, let Amy see it.

She pulls me close, cuddles me against her chest, murmuring comforting words I can't really understand. Dull accomplishment mixes with the pain, almost stops the tears early, I force it back, wallow in the pain, Emma, dad, the fucking city, Leviathan, Grue's second trigger, Cherish in the bay, coming home to Sierra with a gun aimed at her hand, members of my own gang threatening her and Charlotte, Mannequin killing my people, Coil using me to kidnap Dinah, Jack and Bonesaw getting away. Eventually I calm, despite myself, unable to maintain the self pity and frustrated rage, and my tears trickle to a stop, "Sorry," I manage, wiping at my face.

"It's fine, I cried all over you yesterday, and this morning."

Amy's still pretty, her face not puffy and blotchy the way I'm sure mine is, and I relish the twinge in my guts, let myself cup her face in my hand, and she leans up to meet me.

-PatB-

A/N: Taylor's sure she's an ugly, manipulative bitch. The truth is such a dishonest thing to share.


	5. Chapter 5

-PatB-

I splash water on my face, sniff an armpit, stinky as well as sweaty and sticky after sleeping in my clothes, look in the mirror. My face still shows the signs of my earlier crying, and my nose wrinkles at the sight.

I step out of the bathroom, might as well go for my run before I get changed, check on my territory. I shimmy out of my jeans, a sound an awful lot like "Meep" coming from behind me, and I turn, my shirt half pulled off.

Amy's blushing, half turned away, watching me.

I stare back, bemused, I guess she doesn't see me as a pale frog on two legs, "I'm going running, want to come with?" I ask, finally, pulling my shirt off, no point in getting too many things dirty with the current laundry situation. I grab the costume I wore for my run yesterday off it's hook, and start pulling the spider-silk on, legs first, then arms, pulling the top up as I get the costume's shoulders over mine, as Amy watches, unable to look away. She must be nuts, but that fascinated gaze is very flattering.

Amy finally nods as I pull my shoes on, "I'll probably slow you down."

"I've had worse things slow me down."

She nods again, "Can I borrow a pair of socks?"

I look her over, no, she wouldn't fit in most of my clothes, would she. I pull out a pair of socks, toss them over, "I'll get to work on a proper costume for you, too."

"Thank you," she looks up at me, "You don't need too."

"I'm not going to let you run around in a costume that won't even stop a knife," I pull my mask on, leaving the bottom open, "You're too valuable."

"You keep using that word, I don't think it means what you think it means," a smile ghosts over her lips even as she rubs at her hip, just under the waistband of her jeans.

I smile back, "Even if you weren't my friend, I wouldn't risk you. Without you, everyone in town would be dying of an incurable brain disease. Without you, stopping the Nine would have been a lot harder. Without you, a lot more people would have died," I pause, because her face keeps dropping as I keep speaking, "And you're really pretty, and sweet, and cuddly."

Apparently that was the right thing to say. Huh. She's smiling again, and she steps up, stretching up on her toes as she pulls my face down for a kiss.

"Let's go for a run," she says, tying her bandanna back around her face.

-PatB-

A/N: Taylor knows, intellectually, that other people often aren't like her, and value different things. That doesn't make her good at dealing with those differences.


	6. Chapter 6

-PatB-

I've been running intervals, jogging back down my path past Amy, then sprinting forward about as far in front, for the last ten minutes, as Amy slowed, exhausted, "And done," I say, after the twentieth repetition.

"How much longer," she asks me, sweat soaking through her clothes, but doggedly continuing.

"Half a mile. More that three quarters done," I tell her, having actually dragged her out a mile and a half.

"Ahaahh," she moans.

I pat her on a shoulder, "You're doing better than I did, my first run."

"When was that? Middle school?"

I try to count a moment, then use the easy answer, "Late January, early February, after I got out of the hospital."

She stagger-steps, then catches herself, keeps jogging, "Hospital?"

I pause, telling her will bring her closer, show I trust her, so I need to tell her, even though I don't want to. "I was bullied at school, Shadow Stalker, my former best friend Emma, and their flunky Madison were the main three. First day of school after winter break they filled my locker full of used feminine hygiene products. Rotting ones. Shoved me in, locked the door. I spent the next week in the looney bin, figuring out that bugs see and hear weird."

She grabs my hand, gives it a squeeze, then lets go to continue on, painfully slow, but not stopping, or dropping to a walk, "Shadow's still, was still a ward after Leviathan, so what happened?"

"Not enough evidence, as always, the school gave us a small settlement, covered the hospital bills," I shrug, "We stomped Shadow after Leviathan. I think she's in Juvie somewhere."

"Stomped?"

"Regent ran her around as a puppet for a while, then helped her confess her crimes."

"Oh," Amy's eyes are shadowed, then she gives herself a shake, almost stumbles, but steadies herself before I can help.

We're in sight of my headquarters, so I drop to a walk, and Amy slows as well. I walk us for a few minutes, holding Amy's hand, until her breath steadies, slows.

I lead us back to headquarters, smile at her, "Breakfast first, or a shower?" I ask with an inquiring tilt of my head.

I can actually see her smile under her bandanna, "Together?" she asks, something hopeful in her voice.

"Breakfast, certainly."

She throws sweaty, peach-scented arms around my neck, and bats her eyes at me, "Another time, then?"

"Perhaps," I say, smiling, enjoying her interest in me, "Why do you still smell like peaches?"

She laughs, "Peach-scented sweat-metabolizing bacteria."

I just stare at her a moment, smiling, shaking my head, "That's totally cheating."

"If you're not cheating you're not trying," she lets me go, pushes me towards the stairs, "Go have your shower, I'll be up when you're dressed."

"See you soon."

-PatB-

A/N: Shared interests, shared activities, and shared vulnerabilities are supposed to help build relationships.

28 November 2017: 38,216 words so far. I'll mostly keep to one scene per chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

-PatB-

I rinse the soap off, run my nails over my scalp, decide to lather my hair again. I work the shampoo in, then, while it soaks, brace my left hand on the back wall of the shower, and let my other hand slip down my belly.

A very short time later I'm resting my forehead on my left forearm, breathing hard, my blood rushing, vibrating, through me, pleasurable twitches from too-sensitive parts under the lightest of finger pressures.

My breath softens, smooths, the vibration continuing as I lean on the soap dish under the spray for a moment, before I move, carefully, to rinse my hair again. I turn around, working my hair in my hands, getting all the shampoo out, "Well, returning libido is supposed to be a sign of improved health."

If Amy is messing with me, do I mind, if it's this subtle? I don't think she is, even so. People have always been pretty, boys and girls, but so scary, too. Amy, Amy I've seen in some really dark places, seen how she deals with trouble, but she . . . her mean is more physical, less torture, less mindfuck . . . Vicky was brainfuck, and Amy fucked that up six ways to Sunday. Maybe I just trust her to keep it personal, interpersonal, not wholesale, if she turns on me.

The vibration has died off by the time I get the conditioner rinsed out of my hair, and I dry off.

-PatB-

Amy Interlude:

I give Taylor a kiss as I meet her at the bottom step, then head up, reeking of peaches.

I pause at her costume, hung back on a hanger, ready to be worn, still a little damp with sweat, but nowhere near as soaked as mine, and smell it. It smells like her, healthy human with a healthy microbiome, just a tiny tinge that smells like intrigue. I drop my costume to the bathroom floor, peel off bra and panties, check for towels. There's four, two somewhat damp, so I check the latch again and climb into the shower.

It's been days, my hair was starting to itch, my waistband. I spend several minutes scrubbing under the warm water, relishing the under-appreciated feeling of being clean.

I work a second glob of shampoo into my hair, lean back against the back of the shower to keep the shampoo in. The way Skitter — Taylor — looked at me this morning. I'd dreamed of Vicky looking at me like that for years, of being the center of her attention. Why? The question rises again, why did she kiss me? Was it thanks, for fixing her brain? Was it some sort of ploy, to draw me in? Was she actually interested in mousy little Amy Dallon? Or did she just want Panacea, who can make her giant bugs?

The worse question pops up again, did I make her want me?

And again, how would I tell? Unless I messed up badly, there would be no trace of a subtle enough alteration. I smack my head back into the wall of the shower, then step forward to rinse.

-PatB-

A/N: Yeah, trust is important, particularly when powers get involved.

29 Nov 2017: 39,743 words


	8. Chapter 8

-PatB-

Amy pads down the stairs, wrapped in my bathrobe. I didn't know I had a bathrobe. I find my attention drawn up her shapely calves, past her knees up under the robe's hem, then two different, feminine laughs let me know I was staring. Amy's smiling, a tiny blush across her cheeks and the tips of her ears, "Is breakfast ready? I'll need to wash my costume or get some different clothes today, although it doesn't look like some of you would mind me wandering around naked."

My ears heat, and then my face, which I hide behind my coffee mug as Amy and Charlotte laugh at me. Well, I re-appraise, Amy seems to be more laughing than laughing at. She leans over the table, providing a fascinating look down the front of the bathrobe, and pulls my face up by my chin before kissing me.

That takes long enough that Charlotte clears her throat, "Do either of you want some breakfast, or are you just going to suck face?"

Amy pulls back, maintaining eye contact as she sighs, "I guess we'd better eat, we've got a long day again."

-PatB-

While Amy's costume is washed, I resize one of my body suits for her, darting in fabric at the bosom and hips, layering patches over the rips, tears, and cuts, hemming up the sleeves and legs. When I finish it's ugly, but much better than nothing.

"Here," I say, "Try it on again."

This time she doesn't go to the bathroom, just turns away, pulls it up under the bathrobe, exposing pale, smooth skin as she gets it up to her waist, then drops the robe before wiggling the top up. She turns to face me, a little smile tilting up her lips as my ears heat, the heavily patched garment outline her curves remarkably well. She glances up occasionally as she pulls and tugs and jiggles to get the thick armor cloth to sit right. I calm myself, pushing my response out into my swarm, then examine the fit, checking for places that are too loose or too tight. After a minute I decide it's good enough this time, "I'll get the spiders on making you a suit of your own."

"Make me a top and a bottom, have the top button or snap down or something, maybe a belt to join them? I'm sure this is a pain when you have to pee," Amy tells me, "Or maybe you can figure out a fly that'll work for a girl."

I nod, "I'd have to figure out a way to limit the weak points, too. You just have to make things difficult, don't you."

"I've been listening to Laserdream whine about the inconvenience of bodysuits since she triggered, and she doesn't wear jeans and a t-shirt over them."

"I keep destroying them, so," I shrug, "That was my fifth or sixth bodysuit. If it's going to be a long day in costume, without any good bathrooms, I wear astronaut underwear."

She tilts her head, "Astronaut underwear?"

"Depends. They're a lot cheaper than the real thing."

"Eww."

"Yep. Much, much better than pee dripping down your leg. Less smelly, too."

She looks at me, shakes her head, then looks at me again, "Really?"

"Want a pair? We'll be close enough for easy bathroom breaks today."

She just shakes her head.

-PatB-

Her costume is in the dryer, so she's admiring my spider collection, the bathrobe catching on the patches, bunching and lifting when she leans over, "What's special about these ones? I can tell you're keeping them warm and humid."

"Darwin's Bark Spiders make the strongest silk. The Widows are much more common, but very territorial, and their silk is about half as strong, and the rest of them?" I give a one-shouldered half-shrug, "They're pretty, or scary, or extra poisonous," I point at various tanks in turn.

"May I?" she asks, indicating the tanks with the Darwin's Bark Spiders.

"OK," I collect her one of my males, and hold it out in my cupped palm. She holds out a finger, so I reach out and touch it with the spider's leg.

"Hmm," she says after a while, "One of the widows now?"

I put the male back in his tank, and select a widow, bringing her over.

She holds out her finger for the spider to touch again.

"Who are your most docile spiders?" she asks while I put my widow back in her tank.

I reach up to the web in one corner of the room, close to my chair, and a large, for a weaver, spider climbs down into my hand, somewhat yellowish pink, her abdomen broader than my thumb, if not as long.

After Amy feels her over I put her back, "She's nocturnal, moved in a little after I did, following the bugs, I think. Isn't she gorgeous?" She settles into her corner, out of sight, going back to sleep.

Amy smiles at me, "Sure," she says.

She's not very convincing, so I try tickling her. Her tummy's not ticklish, nor the outside of her arms or thighs. She's keeping the inside of her elbows and the backs of her knees protected , , ,

-PatB-

A/N: Yeah, three scenes to wash a costume.

And ff.n decided that it was tired of me just posting things. Fixed now.

30 Nov 2017: 41,457 words.


	9. Chapter 9

-PatB-

It's almost ten in the morning by the time Pinky's in costume, and I start to lead her around to the various members of my gang, showing off the work still to be done.

"The Merchants are done, the ABB is done, the Pure fled to Boston days ago, so it's down to us, the Chosen, Menja's, now, it seems, since Hookwolf left with the Nine, and Coil," I sigh, "The Travelers are working for Coil, Faultline's crew are laying low, the Protectorate and PRT are going to cause trouble as soon as we've stabilized things, and I have no idea how New Wave is going to react."

Pinky gives me a hug, "We'll take care of it. I'll patch up wounded today, and build power tools tomorrow. The day after we start your Mayoral campaign."

I look at her in disbelief.

She smiles under the improvised pink domino mask, "Why vote for the evil you don't know? Skitter for Mayor! I can see the posters now."

I laugh, she doesn't.

After lunch Pinky's walking around with me, watching the cleanup and demolition going on, and making thinking noises.

I stop next to her, follow her line of sight to an old, claw-foot tub, soot-streaked but intact, unlike the rest of the building it had been in, "Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"I think so Brain, but how would we make a bathtub full of chocolate pudding in this mess?"

I'm really glad I have my mask on as my ears heat, and I know the blush is spreading across my face and down to my neck.

"Yeah, milk's hard to come by right now. But I was wondering if you'd like a bathtub."

"I wouldn't mind, but it's not a priority," she pauses, "Unless you'd be sharing it with me."

I look back at her, and she's not drooling, but is otherwise putting on a show of lustful contemplation. I step a little closer and bomp her with my hip,

She laughs, hugs my arm, leans her head against my shoulder. I wrap that arm around her, first her waist, which is awkward, and ends up more at her underarm, so I put it around her shoulder instead. That works better, less chance of inadvertent public groping, and she tucks up to me, my hip to her waist, her arm about my waist, and she strokes exploratory fingers over my hip and thigh.

"No pockets?"

"Just the compartment in the back panel."

"How is your girlfriend supposed to walk around with her hand in your pocket if you don't have any?"

"Maybe I'll have to add some."

"Maybe so, or just a belt with a pocket, if it's a security thing," she pauses, "Tactical thing."

"Yeah, I was worried about catching pockets on things. A button-down flap would work, too."

"Maybe. Or I can just do without."

I twine my fingers through hers, "I'll have a pocket for you tomorrow," and give her hand a squeeze.

-PatB-

"This was kinda dumb," Pinky says, walking beside me, her hand in mine, "Skitter and your other self getting a girlfriend at the same time? I'm sorry."

"You've never had a secret identity before," I tell her, "And I don't stop you."

"You're upset," her voice droops.

"We need to separate our identities a little more, probably. Not many cameras out today, so . . . " I trail off, "Hair color?"

"I can't change my own biology."

"Hair's dead, so use something to change the color, maybe butterfly scales? Iridescent pink for Pinky?"

"And a different color for your other self's girl,' Amy says, letting go of me. She pulls one sleeve up, then draws her hand up her arm, turning the fine golden hairs there a brilliant pink, then back down again, back to normal. She pulls her sleeve back down and reaches for my hand again.

"That's awesome," I stop, swing her around, and bend down to kiss her.

-PatB-

Amy's in front of the mirror, running her hands through her hair, inspecting the color, then repeating.

She stops at a dark, auburn red, "What do you think?"

I don't catch my face fast enough, and her's falls, "The red matches your freckles, and looks pretty good on you, actually. My ex-best friend had hair that color."

"Emma Barnes?" Amy doesn't really ask, "I spent some quality time with her underwear ads."

I blink, and eventually decide to reciprocate, "My libido died sometime before Christmas my freshman year," my gaze drops to my hands, clasped together in front of me, "And only started peeking back out of it's grave after I joined the Undersiders," I shift my gaze back to her, a smile growing on my face, "I kissed Grue, then he told me he saw me as his sister, I kissed you, I kissed Bitch and Tattletale to spread your cure, then you come to visit and I find myself masturbating in the shower."

She laughs, a big grin on her white-toothed face, "Glad to see I've been a positive influence on you," she runs her hands though her hair again, making her hair a lighter, oranger red, "Better?"

"Less Emma like, but I can get used to whatever color you like," I step up behind her, cup her shoulders in my hands, "If you think Emma hair is really hot, go for it," I shrug at her in the mirror, "But this is pretty," I twirl a long strand of her hair around my fingers.

"You're not going to call me Pippi or Carrottop, are you?"

"I might call you Anne, with an E, but only if you call me Diana," I hide my face in her hair.

She laughs, delighted, "You saw that, too?"

"Not until after I watched _Read or Die_."

"You've seen _Read or Die_ and not _Animaniacs_?"

"There's a lot more pretty girls in _Read or Die_, and I found a Yomiko/Nancy AMV that pointed me at it."

"So you like pretty girls?" she asks me.

I meet her gaze in the mirror, "Girls are pretty. Boys are pretty. You seem to think I'm pretty."

She turns and wraps me in a hug, pressing her forehead against my collarbones, "You gooftard, of course you're pretty."

"Jung-Freud," I say, petting her hair.

"Are you going to get me a giant robot?" She pulls back a bit, "And Kazumi or Noriko?"

"Nono!" I claim with a laugh.

"Giant robots or lesbians?"

"Both, with a scattering of awesome. Before all this, before my mom died, mostly."

"You haven't missed much, the last few years. There's rumors that they're remaking Yamato for next year, but we'll see."

I just give her a squeeze, "Are you coming to bed, Anne with an E?"

"Yes, I am, Diana."

-PatB-

A/N: Amy's just getting into it, but it will soon be obvious why she had to be out of the picture in canon . . .

And the pocket references a Lisa Loeb song . . .

1 Dec 2017: Wrote nothing on this yesterday, did school work instead . . .


	10. Chapter 10

-PatB-

"Black as a raven's wing," Amy says, her fingers carding through my hair, and I open my eyes to look at her. She's wearing one of my shirts and a set of pajama bottoms someone found her yesterday, her feet tucked under the blanket at the bottom of the bed, the air having cooled to warm, but not sweaty overnight, her hair bright like a new penny, her brown eyes lightened by her new hair color to almost gold.

"This hair color makes your eyes so pretty, like a sparkly vampires," I tease her, before leaning forward for a kiss.

Her mouth still tastes of mint.

"Sparkly vampires are such," she pauses, "Stop me if you don't want to hear me rant,"

"If you want to complain about sparkly vampires, I have no reason to stop you."

She looks at my smile for a moment, then proceeds to rant about the entirety of Twilight, with a short digression into Alice/Bella femmeslash, for several minutes. It is surprisingly easy to maintain a smile the whole time.

-PatB-

After our run, Pinky in a new pair of shorts today, and thus much less sweaty, I stop to look at my hair in the mirror, tilting my head back and forth, iridescent green highlights appearing and disappearing.

"Like it? I thought it would be pretty, and go with your bug-theme," Amy says, stripped down to her bodysuit.

"I like it, I think, could I get some more blues and purples?" I say, hanging up my costume.

She nods, smiling, "Of course."

"And we can turn it off if I want to be Taylor for a while?"

"I can turn it off now, but I'm not sure how to make it so you can turn it off," She leans back on her hands, feet crossed at the ankle, all of her exposed hair a sparkling, iridescent pink, "We can work on that later. What do you want me to make? You seem well set for power tools, and I think you can borrow, rent, or steal heavy equipment faster than I could make it."

"Relays would be nice, more spiders would let me make costumes faster, um," I shrug, "What do you want to make?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

I look at her, shiny with sweat, her bodysuit drying on her, curves like a movie star, and a warm, lovely smile on her face and in her eyes, "Maybe you could make something to protect yourself? Something you can mass produce to help protect my women and kids?"

One corner of her mouth twitches up more, "Your women and kids?"

"Yeah, I hold something like a sixth of town, so I've got a lot of them to look after."

Amy giggles at me, blushing slightly.

I drop my face into my hand, "Not like that, and you know it."

"But," she's laughing, so I walk across the room and press her back into the bed.

"I only have one girlfriend, I've only ever had one girlfriend, and I would be entirely content if I only ever have one girlfriend."

"Would I be content?" she smiles at me.

"I'd hope so, this bed isn't big enough for more than three or four."

She wraps me up in her arms and legs, squeezing me tightly, "That's probably too many. I haven't even figured out how to keep one girlfriend, let alone three."

"If we keep going like this, we might figure it out," I hug her back, a little worried, "I'm not squishing you, am I?"

"No, it's good," she tightens her grip a moment, then lets me go, "Go take your shower."

"I won't wash the green out, will I?"

"It'll be fine."

I stop in front of the bathroom door, my back to Amy, peel off my bra, drop it on the floor, and pull my panties down until they drop, and kick them on top of my bra before closing the door behind me.

My underarms smell like sweat and peaches.

-PatB-

"Hey, Brain, how'd you take Lung?" Pinky asks me, looking up from the mass of former bugs in her hand.

"Which time?"

Her eyes get wide, "You got him more than once?"

"Yeah, the first time, my first night out heroing, heard him talking about killing kids. So I sicced all the bugs on him. Stung him enough before he got big that he collapsed before he could kill me. The kids turned out to be the Undersiders, but they took off when they heard Armsmaster coming. Armsmaster tranked him, took the credit."

"Second time, Kaiser was after him, with Menja and Fenja, and I had Bitch, her dogs and Sundancer. Bitch had just gotten back from dropping Newter back with Faultline's people, after we'd patched him up. Kaiser thought he could take Lung, and didn't. Menja got hurt, Kaiser was out, Sundancer didn't do any real damage to him, and got slapped by a hand as big as her torso, Bitch and he dogs knocked him around a bit, then he grabbed Bitch and stepped on her. He had me in his hand, so I stuck a bug in his eye and knocked him out, then carved out his eyes before he woke back up. He didn't escape that time."

"What kind of poison did you use on the bug?"

"Newter's blood."

"I'll have to ask for a sample, then." Pinky's shaped the mass into a very pretty double-edged blade.

"Is that strong enough to be useful?"

"Depends. I don't think it'll go through more than an eighth of an inch of steel, but it should drop people pretty well," she shifts her grip on it, holding it out hilt first, holding it near the guard but not by the blade.

I take it, "What does it do?"

"The flat of the blade is covered in modified jellyfish stinging cells, and the edge leaks venom when you stab something with it."

"What kind of venom?"

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that, spider, toad, snake."

"A bit extreme for self-defense. And we don't want someone to kill themselves playing with mommy's knife."

Her head tilts to the side, "True."

"Do you mind if I abuse it a bit?"

"It would help make the next one better."

I stab it into the brick wall a few steps away, full Psycho-style hammer blow, driving it in a couple inches, then press it to one side and the other, bending it flat to the wall. It doesn't break, and it returns to straight with no evidence of taking a set. I pull it back out, and the edge shows no damage, either. I look it over closely, no bending I can see, "Very interesting."

"Here," she hands me a leather-like sheath for it, so I cover it and slip it into my back compartment.

"Thank you," I tell her, then take her right hand in mine, and slip it into the pocket on a belt I'd made that morning. That done, I spin, bringing her to my left side, her arm around my back, and wrap my left arm around her shoulders again.

She smiles up at me, or maybe beams.

I ruffle her pink hair, pleased that the small gesture made her happy.

-PatB-

"I finished your bodysuit, finally," I tell her, stopping at Skitter's room after dinner, "Do you want to keep the jeans and t-shirt look?" I ask, checking over the separate top and bottom again, "I need to sew the buttons on, but if you'd like to try them on?"

"Sure," she says.

I look up to see her already out of her shirt, and her jeans sliding down her legs, her back to me as she shifts from side to side.

I must have made a noise, because she asks, "Do you like the view?"

"Yes," I manage after a moment.

"Good," she says, turning around as she pulls the sleeves of her bodysuit down, her breasts popping free with a jiggle, the top of them as red as her face, A moment later she's facing me in her matching grey underwear.

Her blush fades as her smile grows, and I continue to stand, just looking at her. She poses, feet spread, hands on her hips, head high, a big grin on her face, "I really like that you think I'm pretty. Let's try the new costume," She holds out her hand.

I hand over the bottoms, and focus on fit and finish as she pulls the thick spider-silk up. She pulls and adjusts for a moment, getting the waistband settled around her bellybutton, "Top."

Once she has it on, the straps dangling about her thighs, I weave one of the straps for her, under the three cross straps on her thigh, up over the bottom, under the middle and top, over the top, then back under the middle, "And a button on the middle strap."

"Let's get this strapped up, first," she says, starting on her other front strap.

I weave the side strap near me, and wait while she gets the other side done. She bends and twists, "What sort of forces are you thinking about that it would need a button?"

I grab the bottom hem of her top, pick her up with a grunt, and give her a gentle shake up and down.

"Maybe a crotch-strap instead?" she asks, "That would keep the bottom hem a little more contained, and thus less likely to get caught."

"Maybe. Do you like it, otherwise?"

"Kinda perfect," she pulls my mask off, and kisses me soundly.

-PatB-

A/N: Variation on the theme of three-bar slider, or MOLLE straps.

2 December 2017: 42516 words. Reposted to change the tense on one word. sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

_Italics, again, are quotes from_ _Worm_ _._

-PatB-

Colony 15-1

Bitch, Pinky, and I don't flinch as Bentley's huge bulk surges towards us, pulling the fire-gutted building down. The rest of the crew puts a more respectful distance between them and the ton and a half of monster bulldog Bitch is praising, even as he lifts her off her feet with an affectionate nudge.

" _Get to work clearing that up!_ " I order, my swarm spreading my voice across my entire crowd. Twenty-two adults, twenty kids, other than the three capes, partly dressed in Coil-supplied hazmat suits, warm summer rain drizzling down.

The generator stutters, steadies, and people rush to grab saws.

" _If you're under eighteen, you don't get to use power tools,"_ I start, blocking one of the kids from the saws, and lay down the rules, leaving Sierra in charge of on-site safety.

I turn to Bitch.

" _You owe me," she said._

I nod, " _Of course, we'll get you and your people some lunch_."

She frowns, " _Lunch_?"

After a moment she continues, " _Fine_."

" _Come on. We'll go to my place while we wait for the others._ "

Her group, two capes, two normals, and more of her dogs, follows us. Pinky is a little distracted at my side, playing with a another blob of former bugs. The prototype knife is sharp enough to cut a dropped polyester thread, after I stabbed it into brick wall, and remarkably tough. I wonder what she's working on now.

I turn my attention, again, to Bitch, and my attempt to mend fences.

In my lair, I ask Bitch, " _Hamburgers?_ "

She nods, and everyone else signals agreement.

" _Charlotte, would you mind? Maybe fries, too, if you know how to make them on the stove?_ "

" _I don't, but there's some it the freezer that I can do. They aren't bad."_

 _"Good, when you have a second, some towels for the dogs, too."_

She agrees, and I lead the others into the ground-floor sitting area. Some light filters through the windows with the shutter open, and Bitch is outside with Bentley.

I step out, point her towards the beach so he can shrink down, and she heads that way.

Inside, Pinky is still distracted with whatever she is doing, so I give her shoulder a squeeze as I walk past.

She nods, not looking up.

Bitch's people start asking me for tips on how to handle her, and Barker makes an ass of himself, getting a mouthful of capsaicin bugs for his trouble.

I'm propping up the wall when Bitch returns to see Barker mewling on the floor. She glares at me.

" _He started it, I finished it._ "

A fair bit of hassle later, I get Bitch to accept her new costume, we eat, and the others arrive.

-PatB-

Lisa interlude:

The girl with the shiny pink hair, pink zorro mask, and the glob of doughy . . .

-Not dye. Iridescent, nanostructured chitin.

I cut that off.

-Biological materials, used to be bugs, being played with to cover for observing . . .

I cut that off, too. New cape, then, and Skitter, I glance at her.

-Happier than normal. Because of new cape. Protective, thinks she's pretty, attracted.

A glint of iridescence in Skitter's hair, and a tiny twitch of lips from the pink-haired girl when she looks up.

-Skitter lets the new cape play with her hair.

-New cape is also attracted, likes being admired by Skitter, is forcing herself to show emotional vulnerabilities.

-Vulnerability is real.

Skitter brushes her hair back, the pink tip of an ear showing for an instant.

-Skitter is also putting on a show. Wouldn't allow any emotion to show if she didn't think the reward was worth the risk.

-Scared. Happy. Scared of letting herself be happy. Pushing to the edge of her ability to cope.

"Who's this?" I ask, addressing Skitter while I look at the new girl.

"Pinky. She's a bio-tinker," Skitter answers, stepping up to place a hand on Pinky's shoulder.

Bio-tinker?

-Panacea. Skitter's girlfriend.

Pinky drops her head sideways to brush her cheek against Skitter's hand.

-Knows Taylor's real name. Is Taylor's girlfriend. Implemented the hair color to help keep secret identities.

Pinky holds her glob of material in one hand, and reaches up with the other, tucking her fingers into something on Skitter's costume.

-Knows Taylor kissed Grue. Knows Taylor also finds boys attractive. Is worried. Tucked hand in Taylor's pocket for comfort. Taylor wears pocket for Amy to use.

-Wants to love Taylor.

-Taylor wants to love Amy.

Well, that is interesting.

Our new costumes are awesome.

-PatB-

Pinky stands next to me, her left hand in my pocket, mask off, eyes closed. I wonder if she can feel my eyes on her, because she started smiling as soon as I looked at her.

" _Safe to turn around_ ," Tattletale says.

I gesture, and everyone takes seats, me in my big chair with Pinky squeezed in next to me, her hand on my thigh.

" _Feels like we're different people than we were an hour ago_ ," Imp says.

I nod, "Thank you, but I think the last week changed all of us. Some more than others," I catch Brian's eyes, and cup my hand over Pinky's."

Lisa nods, and takes over the meeting. Everyone agrees to help take down Coil.

" _Well_ ," Alec laughs, " _At least we'll have something to do while we wait for the world to end._ "

"I think we should put Skitter up for Mayor," Pinky says.

"Can a parahuman be Mayor?"

"Why vote for the lesser evil? Skitter for Mayor!" Aisha laughs.

"Lung. Leviathan. The Slaughterhouse 9. Let the enemies of our city beware. Vote for Skitter!" Alec proclaims in an oratory voice.

"Why do you think this is a good idea?" I ask.

"Because you do a lot of good around here, and this would let you do more," Pinky says.

"Because it will distract Coil, and make him think we are distracted."

"Fine, put the fifteen year old up for Mayor. What's the worst that could happen," I say, intentionally, throwing caution to the wind.

-PatB-

A/N: I'm skimming everything that Amy's presence doesn't much change, because kilowords of paraphrase is boring.

3 December 2017: 43,436 words.


	12. Chapter 12

_Worm quotes in italics._

-PatB-

"Your- She looks pissed," I tell Pinky, as Glory Girl cuts across the sky again.

"She probably is. I left her knocked out and locked in a closet at Arcadia."

"Did you ever apologize?"

"I left her a note, but it sucked, and I don't know if she even read it."

"Did you tell her why she was locked in a closet?"

"Because she'd be safer in there, and could let herself out at will?"

"Did you tell her that?"

"No, I kept her unconscious from when you brought her to me until I left her."

"Yeah, I can see how she'd still be pissed. You did put her brain back to normal, right?"

"Yep. Normal old almost straight Glory Girl."

"Almost straight?"

"Yeah, she'll probably be pissed at me for that, too, but that's her."

"You couldn't have been more subtle?"

"I was too," she pauses, "Probably could have been, but I don't think . . . I didn't think. She has someone else she's in love with, and,"

"Had."

"I keep forgetting he's dead."

"Everything's happened so fast. I'm waiting for the next shoe to drop."

Regent and Imp are splashing up the street next to us, laughing and joking. The water's only ankle deep on the sidewalk, where we are walking.

Tattletale greets us, " _No Grue?_ "

" _He's tired_ ," Imp says, shrugging Regent's arm off, " _Not sleeping these days._ "

"I can put him to sleep, actual restful sleep," Pinky says, "And put him back in it, too, if he's having nightmares."

"That could be really helpful," Tattletale says, " _With the way things are stacked against us, we could wind up with another few days of concentrated activity, and running on empty from the start could spell bad things._ "

She glances at me. I glance at Pinky, who's presence has been very restful.

"You're good," she says.

" _Guilty about leaving my people to their own devices, but I'm glad we're working though this stuff_."

Pinky and Tattletale work on my Mayoral campaign, it looks like I'll be up against two of Coil's agents. The talk quickly turns to exposition about the fall of Empire 88, then what an amazing combat multiplier Pinky is.

"A sample," Pinky says, and hands around knives.

"Oh?" Imp draws hers from its sheath, and goes to test it on her finger.

"Don't!" Pinky says, sharply, "The stinging cells on the flat of the blade are debilitating. The venom from the glands around the edge might kill you."

"So don't stab anyone I don't want to die?"

"Not until I've hand a chance to find something better for them," she says, "And the edge will cut your costumes if you put a bit of effort into it."

"That's interesting. What would be better?"

"Do you have a sample of Newter's blood?"

"Not right now, let me see about that."

We continue our walk to Regent's territory, near the College. Someone's tagged the place, wolf heads and swastikas.

Shatterbird sandblasts them off.

Regent's mockery of Shatterbird annoys me, as does his reasoning.

"He's got a point," Pinky tells me, "I wouldn't be very nice to Bonesaw if I had her in my grasp."

"I'd probably just kill her, but,"

"She tried to kill Mark, made me break my rules, tried to recruit me for the Nine. I am very upset with her."

My swarm hisses as my anger flares, "Maybe we can find something for her after all."

"Only if she's useful. Otherwise deader is better," Amy says, "Spending too much time on a grudge is never good for one."

Pinky mostly stays by Tattletale as we stomp the Chosen, Rune, Victor, Fog, Night, Othala.

Then Tattletale starts talking about taxes. Treasure first, then a cape.

-PatB-

I tense, and step to the back of the group, Pinky following me. I keep my eyes on Night, even as Tattletale starts in on Victor and Othala.

Pinky's hand is in my pocket, and I've got my arm around her shoulders. I feel like our situation is different, but Tattletale's words still cut deep.

Eventually we leave with Victor. After he's loaded in a truck, we get an explanation for the blindside. I don't like it, but I understand it.

Pinky and I start for home, then Imp pops up to ask a favor.

We change at my headquarters, and head for Grue's.

We get Grue to talk, play with powers a bit, and he falls asleep on the couch, his head on my shoulder. Amy has a fragile smile, looking at us, but relaxes as I tug her down onto my other shoulder, "Did your sister ever fall asleep on you?" I ask her quietly.

"All the time."

I rest my face on the top of her head, "I'll let him tell you the details, but Bonesaw drove him to a second trigger. That's a big part of why he hasn't been sleeping."

"Then it's good you are so soporific."

"Prat," I tell her, pulling her tighter against me.

-PatB-

Waking up between my 'brother' and girlfriend is nice. I pull Amy a little tighter, careful not to wake her. I think my arm under Brian is asleep. I give it a gentle tug, a sensation of pins and needles flowing down from my shoulder, my fingers rather numb. I watch Amy sleep, my arm slowly recovering, let myself worry.

Capes don't seem to be good at relationships. Night and Fog, going through the motions, following the forms without the meaning. Victor and Othala, with Lisa there to pick them apart. Amy's adoptive parents.

People don't seem to be good at relationships, either, so.

The dark bags under her eyes are gone, finally, and she looks so young when she's sleeping, her face so soft, the tense watchfulness faded, unlike the first night I shared a bed with her, her face pinched by stress even as she slept. Brian's face, I check, is like that, tense and drawn, recovering, but slowly, from what we've been through over the last couple months. I roll my head around, getting a pop out of my neck, brush my lips against Amy's hair, and realize I need to pee.

Once the thought has come to mind, it is very hard to banish. A few minutes later, I give in, and slowly extract myself from between them. Brian's sleeping like the dead, and Amy gropes over, dropping her head on his shoulder without waking.

Since they aren't waking, I take care of my business, and a quick text conversation with Tattletale.

The clean kitchen and no warnings spell Imp, so I start on breakfast for four, since three of us have a meeting with Coil.

They can sleep until the smell of breakfast gets them up.

Aisha is first into the kitchen, " _Thanks for cleaning up,_ " I tell her, " _And for not getting upset._ "

She stares at me, "Is my brother not enough for you?"

"He told me he thought of me like a sister. Amy actually wants me, I like that."

"Brian needs you, too."

"Like a sister, just an older, less bratty one," I give her a teasing smile.

"Why are you acting like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Less autistic than normal. More in touch with your emotions, or demonstrative with them."

"There's some overlap between badass and autistic, presentation wise, I guess. Amy doesn't need me to be the badass. It's really fucking hard not to be the badass, you know?"

Aisha laughs, "I do!"

She sobers, "Can you come visit anyway? This is the longest he's slept in weeks."

"We can come over for slumber parties, I'm sure."

"You're sure of what?" Amy asks, slumping in the doorway, "And it's rude to leave your girlfriend sleeping on someone else when she went to sleep on you. I almost screamed. That would have woken him up."

"We can come visit, have slumber parties."

"Only," she yawns, "I slept too long," another yawn, "If I can paint his nails."

"I can do it if you can't," Aisha says.

"I bet you can," Amy yawns again, and wanders toward the bathroom.

Grue comes in a bit later, and Aisha gives him a hug.

I poke the bacon, then do the same.

He heads towards the bathroom once Amy comes back, and she gets a hug.

After breakfast I leave Amy at my headquarters with a few gallons of bugs, since Coil knowing about her . . .

And she'd be upset at me jumping into a death trap. Will be upset with me.

-PatB-

A/N: More skimming of things Amy doesn't change much.

4 December 2017: 43,530 words


	13. Chapter 13

-PatB-

Fuck. "Tell Amy where I went," I tell Tattletale before leaving.

Ballistic.

Parian.

Flechette stabbing me in the fucking shoulder.

Not my worst night ever.

-PatB-

"Hey," I greet Amy.

"You sent Charlotte off with a stack of money?"

"Yeah, rescued Parian from Ballistic. Flechette was a bit protective of her."

"So they're on the way out of town?"

"I think Flechette's staying. I've got a meeting with the Mayor in a bit, so could you get this spike out? It's uncomfortable."

"Spike?"

"In my shoulder blade."

Her hand slips into my hair, "What happened? This is bonded to your bone."

"I told you Flechette was protective."

She gives me the dirtiest look, "On a scale of one to ten, how much does it hurt?"

"Ten high? Three, spiking to seven if it gets bumped."

"So you bribed them to leave?"

"Ballistic was busy destroying Dolltown, so I asked them to join us, offered to pay to get her people fixed," I pull my mask off one handed, drop it on the bed.

"I could do that. Bonesaw got to them?"

"Yes. I wasn't going to volunteer you for it."

She smiles, "I think you can," she pauses, "Sit," then pinches up a fold of my costume.

I twitch as that pulls on the spike, and hiss.

She cuts into my costume, and works her way around the spike as gently as she can, drawing several more hisses as she goes. That done, she pulls the spike out, my flesh knitting up behind as she goes.

"Thank you," I tell her, "Can I, may I kiss you?"

She smiles at me, "If you'd like."

"Would you like to?" I'm grinning by now.

She sits in my lap, and I wrap my arms around her as her lips mold to mine. She is warm, and soft, and something wet is dripping onto my neck. I reach up, and feel the tears dripping down her face, "I'm sorry," I tell her.

"You're alive, and intact enough for me to fix," pulls back, blinking at me, "Don't die, and make it home."

The misery in her voice makes me tear up, so I flop back on the bed, pulling her close, press my face to her neck, "I'll do my best," I tell her.

"Sierra's kid, Bryce?"

"Yeah?"

"Want me to fix his hand?"

"I think he needs to grow up a little first. If he hasn't figured out the lay of," I pause, "He's still mad we rescued him from the Merchants."

"OK."

"Costume up, let's go downstairs for a bit."

I am so tempted to watch her get dressed, but I patch my costume instead, peeling it down around my waist while I add a square of spider silk armor cloth over the hole Amy just cut. I look up from my repair to find Pinky watching, her eyes limpid pools behind her mask.

"The way you look at me," I say, breathless.

She whimpers, accepts the hand I hold out, "May I?" She asks, reaching with her other hand.

"Yes."

She runs her hand up and down my side a moment, intent, fascinated, then slowly up to cup one bra-covered breast. She strokes it a moment, and I shiver, both nipples hardening, dimpling the fabric. After a moment she steps back with a groan, "Let's get you dressed, too."

Downstairs, we hassle with Sierra, and Bryce's attitude. I send some of the kids to hassle a few slackers, and a couple swarm-clones out to see what they can accomplish.

Parian comes back with Charlotte, and she's willing to listen now. I talk with her using a clone, and tell her about Pinky's Mayoral campaign for me, and that I'm working on taking over the city anyway. She seems conflicted, mostly over Flechette's reaction.

I hope it goes our way.

I settle in my big leather chair on the second floor, Amy in my lap, and start making calls.

Coil is pesterful, but a little willing, so I set Parian up with a phone and a contact, and hope for the best there.

Amy cuddles tighter while I call Trickster, and arrange to meet the Mayor.

The meeting with the Mayor is a clusterfuck. Total, complete, clusterfuck. And does nothing for my chances in the election, I'm sure.

Triumph, his cape girlfriend, two little girls, with a projection and a psychopath for teammates. Pretty much doomed from the start.

Coil's message is delivered, everyone lives, my team escapes. It could have been worse.

Genesis carries Trickster back to Coil's base, and I head for home.

Amy's still in costume, sleeping fitfully in my chair. I poke her awake, "I've grabbed some clothes, I'd like you to meet someone," I tell her.

"Who?"

"Someone Amy should meet."

She blinks at me, then rolls out of the chair, "OK."

A short flight towards the Docks, a quick change of clothes in the dark, and a walk down a barely flooded street, "Watch the bottom step, it's needed replacing for years."

I pause at the top of the steps, cuddling Amy close to me, then finally knock.

My dad answers after a moment. I clutch Amy's hand tighter to anchor myself. He's all over scabs, with a bandage on his shoulder.

" _It's good to see you,_ " he says, looks at Amy, "Who's this?" he asks, stepping out of the way and waving us inside.

"This is my girlfriend Amy," I start, "Amy, this is my dad, Danny."

"Nice to meet you," he says. He holds out his hand.

Amy lets go of mine to shake his.

I give him a hug.

He waves us onto the couch, and I settle awkwardly next to Amy.

"Would you like some tea?"

"Please," Amy says.

He bustles off, and Amy pokes me in the side, "You could have warned me better.'

"Sorry?"

"I would have dressed better for meeting parents."

He comes back, "You're looking well. Are you still on the outskirts of town?"

"By the boardwalk," I tell him.

"Rough area," he says, and Amy pokes one of the piles of paper on the table.

"There are worse in town," I say, "I'm doing a pretty good job of helping get things back together. We got the water back on a couple days ago."

"Have you two been together long?"

"Not long," Amy says, "We first met a few months ago, but we didn't spend much time together until the Nine."

"That was something," Dad says with a nod, "I hope it wasn't too bad for you."

"My sister was hurt, but she's physically better now," Amy says, "I'm not sure how she's doing emotionally, we had a big fight," she grabs my hand, "I caused a big fight. She's probably still mad at me."

"She'll forgive you eventually."

"Unless she doesn't," Amy agrees.

We're quiet, and I read the papers on the table, "Your guys are putting these up?"

"Yeah, people keep getting into the wrong areas without knowing."

"Skitter's running for Mayor," Amy says, "And she's not violent towards people who are civil."

"So she's violent towards people who don't obey?"

"No, she's perfectly willing to let you leave, or sit and do nothing, but if you cause trouble or attack her people," Amy shrugs, "Then you risk becoming an example."

The kettle whistles, and he heads back to make tea.

My phone buzzes, and I look at the caller. Tattletale.

" _I'll be right back_ ," I say. Amy follows me out.

A quick password exchange, and Tattletale proceeds to tell me that Coil has figured out how to spoof her power.

I sit on the front step, holding Amy's hand, and worry that for a bit. "Can you work through something?" I ask her, eventually.

"What do you mean?"

"Could you hold my hand, and repair something I'm touching?"

She thinks for a bit, "Maybe?"

I land a bug on my left hand, bring it over in front of us while I hold her left hand in my right.

"I can feel it, but," she waves her free hand vaguely.

"I was thinking that if you could, it would be a safer way to try and fix Noelle, and that would take a lot of Coil's leverage on the Travelers."

"Give me a few of these," she says, picking up the moth, which melts as her fingers touch it.

I bring her a dozen, and she melds them into a long hard-shelled worm, with three clasping feet at each end. It is maybe six inches long, and still under control of my power.

"One end on each of us," she says, so I grab her finger with one set of worm-feet, and grab my finger with the other. "That'll work," she says, and her connector-worm turns back into moths and flies away.

She pulls me to my feet, and drags me back inside.

We sip our tea, sugar sweetened, quiet.

"For the next version of your flyer about Skitter, could you use 'decisive' instead of 'extreme?'" Amy breaks the silence, "She is very careful about not killing humans."

"Are you part of her campaign?" Dad asks.

"Manager, actually. I could use some people with more experience, really, in running political campaigns," she sighs, "We've started way too late to have much luck, but I do know two of the other candidates belong to Coil."

"And," I sigh, "I could really use some qualified people to delegate to, because I have too many things to accomplish outside my territory, and I feel like I'm letting my people down when I'm not there to keep things going," I lean back in the couch, my cup of tea resting on my leg, and look up into my father's startled eyes.

He blinks, his mouth opening and closing once, twice, thrice He takes a sip of tea, and stares at us again, "How much can you pay?"

"What's union scale for labor, foremen, and managers?"

"Labor's fifteen an hour, foremen are twenty, and managers start at twenty five."

"I just donated two hundred thousand to some victims of the Nine, so," I pause, "fifteen by eight by five, that's . . . six hundred a week, foremen would be eight hundred, managers a thousand. I could probably afford to hire twenty workers, four foremen, and a couple managers. I've got 190 working for me right now, and Parian will need some help setting up if she accepts my offer."

"Maybe some people to help with planning, community organizers?"

"Maybe. Can you help find me some people?" I have another sip of tea.

"Probably."

"So, the Undersiders are bankrolled by Coil. He's promised the Travelers a favor he can't, or won't, carry through on. He has a probability power, and he's kidnapped a young precognitive, who he's keeping drugged up to use her powers. She says Jack Slash is going to end the world, since he's escaped Brockton Bay."

Amy's face falls, and she looks guilty.

"Stopping to kiss you didn't let them escape. Chasing the wrong trail, that let them escape. They decoyed me into the city, and ran to the ship's graveyard," I nudge her arm with my elbow, "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

"You were chasing the Nine?"

"We killed four, captured one, and Jack and Bonesaw left one at the bottom of the bay. I rather wish I'd chosen the other set of trails, but that would have been an awful fight. Panacea had just fixed the aphasia plague, I was running on fumes, and by myself, with just the bugs I could gather and Atlas."

"Atlas?" Dad asks.

"The giant flying beetle Panacea made me."

"Oh," Dad says the that confused tone people use when they have no idea what one is talking about.

"They were gone, with Cherish on the bottom of the bay, within a half hour, so I don't know how much good I could have done against them by myself, anyway," I take a deep breath, then a sip of tea, "Coil is out to conquer the city, and he's an amoral psychopath. Unfortunately, he's got money and can see the future, or take two stabs at the present at once, and drop the one he doesn't like, and Dinah's going to have her power back by next week."

"Have her power back?"

"She overworked it, so she's useless to Coil until she recovers."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Stop Coil, get elected Mayor, hopefully do the favor the Travelers want, because it'll turn into an S-Class threat if it doesn't."

"Are you going to get the ferry running again?"

"After cleaning enough of the bay to get some ship traffic again, and some business that isn't recreational drugs, or at least illicit ones."

"Maybe you can get something set up like Amsterdam," Amy says, laughing, "It would certainly put an end the gangs."

"They'd still have opportunities, but it would cut most of their funding."

Dad sighs, "Yeah, but drugs aren't good for people."

"Neither is alcohol, but prohibition is worse."

We drink our tea quietly.

"Should I set you up a bed?"

I look at Amy, and she nods.

"OK,"

"Come help, Taylor?" Dad asks, standing.

"OK," I follow him up the stairs, look into my room.

The bed's made, a fine layer of dust over things, but the glass from Shatterbird's attack has been cleaned up.

We strip the cover, shake the dust out, "She seems good for you, you're dressing better, standing taller, and I haven't seen you smile as much in years."

"I'm really hopeful," I say, "I really like her, but this is really scary, too."

He gathers me into another hug, "All the most important things are scary."

-PatB-

A/N: Coming out quietly, to no freakouts? Well, she did lead with the easy part . . .

5 December 2017: 44,110 words


	14. Chapter 14

_Italics are quotes from Worm._

-PatB-

It's not light out yet, but both of us are awake, Amy's head still tucked under my chin, "Something's still bothering you about last night."

"I choked Triumph out last night, and didn't help him until he almost died."

"Why?" Amy's voice is calm, unruffled.

"Because his dad had a shotgun he was waving around at me. He shot a few of my swarm clones."

"That's a reason not to heal someone."

"I hit him with an epipen, and left them another, and called them an ambulance."

"Coil wanted you to threaten them?"

"Apparently. Trickster was lead, and he," I sigh, "He escalated badly."

"And you escalate well?"

I laugh, "Better, anyway."

"That's good," she says, twisting about on the narrow bed, then starting to kiss my neck.

It is light outside by the time we get out of bed.

-PatB-

Pinky is standing at my side, the smell of cooking meat suffuses the area, and my people are hanging out, chattering, not doing anything useful. A day off will do all of us good, however.

Grue wanders up, and I walk over to talk with him. He seems to be doing a bit better.

And then it all goes.

Dragon.

I direct my people out of the street, Pinky getting under cover, then Grue and I escape, paying attention to the strengths and limitations of the suit we encountered.

Coil is a dick, Noelle's locked up, Genesis, Ballistic, and Bitch are missing.

So we're taking on Dragon, and seven of her suits, and the local heroes. This is not going to help me get elected Mayor. I put it from my mind, and Trickster swaps me into the PRT building.

A few minutes later, Imp shows off her prisoner.

Grue goes off with her phone, Trickster and Sundancer go off to talk, and the Director tries to assert her moral superiority.

"If I'm responsible for setting Bakuda off, doesn't that mean that you're responsible for everything Lung, and Oni Lee, and Squealer, and Skidmark did, when you didn't take care of them? For the Empire? Where do you get off, Director. You couldn't even keep Shadow Stalker from tormenting schoolgirls, and you want to blame me for this mess you've made?"

She goes quiet, either pleased to have me respond or thinking.

Pinky is with Tattletale and her people when we drive up, and Tattletale sends one of her people off to dispose of the truck.

Tattletale starts in on Piggot while we walk, and Pinky comes up on her other side, steadying her when she stumbles.

After a moment Piggot finishes, " _But because of that, because I could die in a matter of hours if you don't let me seek treatment, you're either going to have to compromise your personal code or you're going to have to let me go and find_ another _way to beat Dragon_."

"Sorry, no, we're not," Pinky says, "Fixed your kidneys already. And there's the scarring, and just a little more flexibility, so you can tie your shoes again," She looks across Piggot at me, "I made you a bush that grows RPGs, 'cause I thought it might help against the suits."

"An RPG bush?"

She nods, smiling.

"No matter what anyone tells you, ever, you are the greatest girlfriend in the history of the world."

Pinky blushes, still smiling.

"So we have all the time in the world to question you," Tattletale grins at Piggot, who doesn't seem as assured as she did.

"Grue, go with Trickster and Sundancer, your powers work well together, look for Ballistic. Strike hard, strike fast. I'll take Regent and Imp, so we'll have a little bit of firepower with Shatterbird."

" _Okay_."

"My team will go see if we can find Bitch, rescue her from whatever they've sent after her. Hunker down after you rescue Ballistic, wait for us. If we don't arrive before dark, we lost, mount a rescue, we'll do the same for you."

" _Sounds good_ ," Grue says.

"Whatever happens, we'll figure it out from there."

 _The Director raised her head, staring up at the sky._

 _"You have something you want to say?" Tattletale asked._

 _The Director shrugged._

 _"What?"_

 _"I'm looking forward to this."_

And she tells us Armsmaster's rebranded himself, is working with Dragon, and has helped her design a new suit to go after us. Pinky gives my hand a squeeze.

We set out, Shatterbird pulling our team on a glass-encrusted door. It is very sketchy. As we get close to my headquarters I notice the swarms of relay bugs, and start spreading them out.

"Let us off," Pinky says, "I loaded Atlas with RPGs, so we'll catch up in a moment."

Regent slows us to a stop while I fly Atlas to us. Pinky climbs on behind me, and we follow after the other three.

It doesn't take long to find Bitch, her people, and the first Dragon suit.

The suit is busy eating scrap, and repairs itself.

"How do these RPGs work?"

"Here," Amy pokes one, slips it into the launcher, "Check the backlist area, 90 degree cone behind, clear for 45 meters," she shoulders the launcher after looking behind, "Choose the target."

I can feel it waking up, eyes turning on as it searches for a target, then lock on.

"Squeeze the trigger," *WHOOSH* "Powered flight for 200 meters, then coasting."

I feel the RPG's fins shift as it chases its target, then a bit of satisfaction as it hits *CRUMP* the suit.

"How many do we have?"

"Thirty," Amy says, reloading.

I grab up an RPG and a launcher, and follow her steps.

Unfortunately, RPGs don't do enough damage to this self-regenerating suit, either, so I convince Bitch and we run, or fly, away.

Bitch jousts with it a bit as we flee, and Shatterbird fills it full of glass, batters it about a little.

The next time the suit tries to reform, the molten glass gums it up badly.

There's no one at Ballistic's. I spread some more relay bugs, and find another dragon suit. Azazal, the one designed for the Nine and us.

-PatB-

A/N: More skimming of canon. Amy's influence starts really changing things.


	15. Chapter 15

-PatB-

So. I get my ass captured, and figure out an important vulnerability to Dragon's suits.

Sundancer cooks it, after I tie it up in webbing and its own containment foam.

Then we get sent on vacation. By Coil. No costumes.

"Let's go see if the food's done," I tell Pinky, sagging onto her shoulder for a bit, "Get my people their good job dinner before they lynch me."

"Sounds good," she twists under me, wraps me in a tight hug, "Today kinda sucked."

Imp and Grue get in a fight, argument, over what she can get up to, and that Grue's worried she spends too much time with Regent.

Trickster says he's going to see Noelle, then turns to Pinky, "Can you do something for her?"

"What's wrong?"

"Her powers, they're broken, she started as a normal girl, and now she's half a girl stuck to a giant monster, like a centaur gone completely wrong. She also makes clones of people she touches, but they're wrong, too."

"Can't fix her powers," Pinky shakes her head, "Maybe I can take them away."

"How?"

"Destroy her gemma and corona," she shrugs, "That should cut her off from her powers."

Trickster sighs, "Sounds dangerous."

"Might be."

"We'll see what Coil can do, OK? What do you want for it?"

Pinky looks up at me, then back at Trickster, "Fifty thousand, which will include surgery, recovery, and aftercare."

"Full refund if you can't heal her."

"Forty-five thou back, because I'll be risking both mine and Skitter's neck trying to repair a giant monster."

"Deal," Trickster says, shakes Pinky's hand, and walks off.

Regent, Imp, and Bitch all head out, and Grue walks back to my territory with us.

My people are cleaning, again.

We walk up the storm drain, and I show Pinky my basement entrance.

We greet Charlotte, Sierra, the kids, and I start heating up some cold pork from today's feast.

Sierra starts talking about how she is worried about being recognized, how she's uneasy with the role, if not the work, of being my second.

I look at my hands, then Pinky, "Look, we should have discussed salary already, and that's my fault. Three grand for this month, remind me if I don't get it to you in the morning. If you want to leave, that's fine, but I'd prefer you stayed, because you are doing a good job."

Pinky speaks up, "If you're worried about being recognized, I can change you, fingerprints and all."

"Change?"

"Reshape your face, raise or lower your vocal pitch, make you a little taller or a little shorter, a little plumper, a little skinnier, a little darker, a little lighter. If I change your finger prints I probably couldn't return them to what they are now, the rest of it I can get close enough."

"What do you mean, close enough?"

"Your DNA is only part of the story," Pinky touches Sierra's cheek, "Your mother was vitamin D deficient while she was carrying you, so your face is narrower than it should be, and your bottom jaw is a little shorter. Going off your DNA, I'd get your eye color right, but your iris patterns would be different. You'd probably end up more symmetrical, which means more attractive. Returning you to looking exactly like you are now . . . probably couldn't do it next week. Definitely couldn't do it next month."

"And if I can't find you, because one or both of us are in jail . . . "

Pinky nods, "Sleep on it, give me an answer in the morning."

Upstairs I clear Grue a chair, and he sits with his plate, setting his mask aside. Pinky sits next to me on the bed, pulling off her mask and running her hands through her hair, turning it to Anne with an E's lovely red-orange. I peel out of my mask as well, Amy cuddling close while we eat.

Brian and I talk shop, and employees. He looks tired.

Amy gathers my plate, puts her hand on Brian's neck as she waits for him to stack his, and sets them in the sink.

The bags under his eyes are gone, but he's still tired.

"Want to watch a movie?" I ask.

"Can I crash over here?"

"We can find you a bed."

We discuss leadership, his issues with running things, accepting help, needing to help.

"I spent years trying to be the good little healer, not complaining, not accepting payment, lusting after Vicky, caring less and less and less."

The proverbial lightbulb appears over Brian's head.

I cuddle her closer, scoot back against the headboard, pull her into my lap.

"Your plates are hard."

She shifts off me while I remove my hard armor.

"This week's been fun, kinda, and restful, kinda, and really rather wonderful," She shifts to look at Brian, "I was glad to find I'm not the only girl with an unrequited crush on her not-blood sibling."

Brian's face twists at that, but I can't read it.

"I can make you sleep, if you want me too. No charge for my girlfriend's brother."

He looks at his hands a moment, then nods, "After the movie."

We go through the movies Coil provided with the place, and decide on Some Like it Hot as the least bad choice.

"Does she remind you of someone?" I ask Amy, when Marilyn comes out.

"Not really, Vicky's skinnier."

"You."

"No."

"Yes."

"No"

"Brian, is Amy built like Marilyn?"

"I shouldn't discus my sister-in-law's figure."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"A yes?"

Amy laughs, "Ahodori," she calls me, cuddling in for a moment.

-PatB-

A/N: More skimming. And another reason Amy's not around in canon.


	16. Chapter 16

-PatB-

I'm on my side, Brian with his back to me, and Amy cuddled to my front. I feel around, find my glasses stuck between the headboard and mattress, and pull them on.

Amy's smiling at me, "Would," she pauses, "May I fix your eyes? I like looking at them, and you'd be safer if you didn't need glasses."

"I'm supposed to stay out of costume, so, yeah, I can take the time to replace my lenses."

My vision goes blurry, and I pull my glasses off.

"Look at something far."

I look out the window, focusing on the furthest roof.

"Good, we'll need to check a bit closer later, but that looks good."

Charlotte and the children are out, but Sierra's downstairs, drinking coffee. Lots of work outside, extending to the edge of my relay-bug range.

"Hey," Brian says, sitting up.

"Hey," I say, "You sleep well?"

"Better. Woke up in the middle of the night, made some noise, Amy knocked me out again."

"That's good?"

"It was." he heads into the bathroom.

When he comes out he's pulling his costume shirt on, "Thank you, Amy."

"Valium is the traditional treatment, and cognitive-behavioral therapy," she says, "Since the trauma was within the last couple weeks, it might really help, without too many side effects. Not a shrink, however," she rolls out of bed, touching his hand on the way to the bathroom.

"Wow," he says, "What did you do?"

"Calmed the bits of your brain that were freaking out, dumped a tiny bit of valium in your brain. You should metabolize it by noon."

"Wow," he sits down in the wooden chair he was sitting in last night, and gets his boots on.

"Yeah," Amy says as she comes out, "That should take the edge off, and may reduce overall severity, but."

The closing bathroom door cuts her off.

Downstairs for breakfast, Sierra's looking at her hands, "Could you change my hair color? A brown, maybe? Complexion to match, no freckles, bring my voice down an octave?"

"Yes. Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, I like this work, but."

"Yeah, but."

Amy runs her hands over Sierra's dreadlocks, and double checks that her face looks good with her hair color, "How's that?"

"Done already?" she pauses, "I sound funny, anyway."

"Sound's good," Brian says.

"Thank you," Sierra says, breathily.

Brian gulps.

I laugh.

"Want to come see Skitter at the last Mayoral debate?" Amy asks them.

"What, are we going to crash it as a write-in candidate?"

"That's what I was thinking.

"Coil said stay out of costume today."

"Just wear your bugs."

"This is a bad idea."

"I want to show you some of the other things I've been making," Amy says, "We can blow some up on the way."

"Blow them up?"

"Explosive beetles, bumble bees with shaped charges in their abdomens, flying eyeballs."

"Eyeballs?"

Three of them wake up as she pulls them from a tin in out of her pocket, "Do they work?"

They work better than the cameras I used in my swarm clones for the visit to the Mayor's house, "Very nice," I say.

"Good, I'll make more later," Amy says. She pulls another one out, "This one blows up, and can be used as a low-yield grenade or a blasting cap."

I land it on my hand, "How low?" It's a hefty thing, like a tarantula.

"Put one on a watermelon, you get a chunk of rind on the ground, and the rest of it scattered in tiny pieces. Put one under a watermelon, and you get a crater with the watermelon scattered everywhere. It'll crack the watermelon out to about nine inches away."

"You've done this before."

"Not this, exploding potatoes, but the chemistry and physics are the same," Amy looks at me, one eyebrow up, "You totally thought I was awesome enough to have made RPGs without playing with explosives before."

"Yes?"

She leaves her tin of sleeping bugs, and climbs in my lap.

"I'll go find something to do," Sierra says. I barely notice, because Amy's kissing me.

I wave a hand anyway.

Brian heads out with her.

It is quite a while before we make it outside, and eventually find the partly standing walls of a collapsing brick warehouse, where Amy proceeds to teach me a lot I didn't know about explosives.

"So, you want to tamp things, unless you've got overkill," she says, "put a bomb bug up against the wall, and blow it up."

We're standing across the street, but I set the bug down at the other end of the building.

*BLAM*

The noise echoes up and down the street, loud enough to make my ears hurt, and a bunch of dust is blown about. The wall is basically unhurt.

"More bugs, please," Amy says, holding out a hand. She blobs the flies and mosquitoes as they come in, pulling out a little blob, which she reforms and hands to me, "Hearing protection."

I tuck it into my ear, and she hands me another. A minute later she puts on a pair of yellow-lensed glasses, fusses with them a bit, then makes another pair for me.

"You can make sunglasses out of bugs."

"I can make creatures that make polycarbonate. Reduced to previous problem."

It takes me a moment to place the mathematician joke, then I smile, snort, and hug her. She hugs me back.

After a while she sighs, lets me go, "Back to class. Another bomb bug, different spot."

I settle the bug, and she waddles up with a moldering sandbag, still full from the aftermath of Leviathan, "Help me set this over the bug without squishing it."

*THUDUMP*

The noise is quieter, muffled by making the sandbag jump, and the earplugs. Amy drags me over by the hand. The sandbag bleeds dirt as Amy shifts it to the side, and there is a nice hole at the base of the wall.

"Fill that with bomb bugs, and pile them around outside," she directs the shape of the pile, "How many do you have here?"

"Sixty-two."

"More than enough. Away we go!" She drags me a couple blocks down the road, "Set them off!"

I detonate all of them at once.

*BOOM*

Bricks fly, dust billows, several of the still intact windows around shatter, and broken glass tinkles as it falls.

Amy drags me back up the street.

"Slow down," I laugh, "The mess isn't going to vanish!"

"But," she says, then steps closer to me, wrapping her arm around my waist to tuck her hand in my front jeans pocket, "I like blowing things up," she looks up at me, a certain something in her eyes that has me wrapping my arm around her shoulder to cuddle her close.

"That's fine, but there's no need to dash back and forth when we could walk together instead."

"Explosions," she whines, and I can tell the limpid brown eyes and pouty lips are mostly an act.

"We can walk fast."

"OK," she twists, her hand coming out of my pocket as she wraps her other arm around me.

"Did I tell you recently that you are the mostest awesomest girlfriend in the history of forever?"

"Yes, but I like hearing it anyway," she leans up. Kissing her is more awesome than exploding bugs.

A while later she is walking me through the crater analysis, "And the fractures extend out into the surrounding bricks, where the shockwave broke things, but not forcefully enough to throw them."

"And this was just because I put so many bugs to it?"

"And you piled them into the hole you blasted with the first tamped bug, which helped the blast penetrate the wall better."

She leads me down the ruins to another wall, looking at the brickwork. I give her another squeeze, and she smiles up at me. "Here we go," she says, "put a bug in this hole," she says.

I look through it, probably a pipe or electrical cable used to go through the wall here, then have a bomb bug climb to the middle of it.

Amy pulls me away, arm still around my waist this time, with quick, determined steps.

"OK," she says, turning us around.

*THUDUMP*

Brick dust splashes, and bricks crumble.

The hole in the wall is roundish, and mostly extends upward from where I put the bug.

"More bugs, please," Amy says, holding out a hand and smiling.

The mass of bugs flowing into her hands flies out as bomb bugs, but they're different.

"Tell the new bugs to fly off. They'll plant themselves and grow into bug bushes."

I send them off, "Are we going to have to worry about them taking over the environment, or blowing people up when they get squished?"

"They won't out compete everything," she pauses, "Probably. They'll fix lots of nitrogen, so they should be good for the other plants. And they're full of RDX, so they're poisonous, and they'll burn really well, but it'll take effort to get them to detonate if you or I don't tell them to."

"Any other ideas you have for crazy cool weaponized bugs?"

"Fireflies!" she practically sparkles.

"Fireflies?"

She nods, smiling, "Thermite."

I blink at her, "Unquenchable iron-based fire. Bugs."

"Yep. Kerosene-based, light 'em up, and they burn hotter as the thermite gets exposed to oxygen."

I blink, thinking about the possibilities, "Fire midges."

Amy starts to laugh, "Those will be awesome!"

We're at a different ruined warehouse, burning holes in steel staircases and breaking windows with fireflies, when my phone buzzes.

"Did you see the news?" It's Trickster, "They're saying the boss got offed attacking the Mayoral debate. Tell Pinky I've got the money, and we should do this as soon as possible."

I hit the mute button, "Amy, want to go remove a girl's powers?"

She thinks a moment, then nods, "Lets."

"We'll be at the Bosses in a little bit. Are we going in or is she coming out?"

"I don't know. I'll figure it out by the time you get here."

"More bugs, please."

-PatB-

A/N: And Pinky breaks the story. Boom. The only way for things to go the same as canon is to be out of Skitter's ever-increasing range.

The bomb bugs look like goliathus beetles, and have a yield of 30 grams of RDX. Pinky cares, but won't mention it. Skitter is hard at work developing an intuitive model of how they work, and isn't all that interested otherwise. So it goes in the A/N.

Someone mentioned Pinky's price is really low — She's 16, hasn't charged for healing before, and is giving the ally discount off the $70,000 price she remembers for cardiac surgery. When Trickster started complaining about refunds, she decided 10% deposit seemed good, because she's almost certain it will go well.

Oh, because we have no canon birthdays for Amy and Lisa: Friday, 13 January 1995 and Friday 13 August 1993, respectively.

9 December 2017: fixed typo on Lisa's birth month. Sigh.


	17. Chapter 17

_Italics are quotes from Worm._

-PatB-

Pinky and I have bug masks when we walk up to the door to Coil's lair. Mine matches my costume, and Pinky's is pink, with faceted pink eye-lenses and little Andorian antennae.

Coil's Soldiers let us in, remarkably composed for people who's boss just died, and Trickster leads us to the vault door.

"Here," he hands Pinky the briefcase Sundancer hands him.

Pinky hands it to me, and I kneel to open it. I flutter through a couple of the bundles of twenties, "Looks good."

Pinky nods, turns to the door, "Is there any way to get access without opening the door?"

"No, there's double doors. There's a food slot in the inner door, but it is set up so only one door can be open at a time," Trickster says, "The boss said it was for security reasons."

They get the outer door open, and the hook that keeps it that way engaged.

Amy looks at the food slot, cycles it once, "She's really tough?"

"She regenerates from almost anything. Crawler wanted her."

Amy nods, "Tell her I'm going to blow the doors off the food slot, and not to panic."

While Trickster does that, she opens the outer door to the food slot again, "Sixteen bomb bugs on the inside of each door," she tells me.

Thirty two bomb bugs is almost my entire stock, but I put them into the food slot anyway.

"Spread them out kind of evenly on each door."

I nod.

"Is she ready?"

Trickster nods.

"On three. One. Two. Three."

*THUDUMP*

The bugs detonate.

*KLANG*

The outer door of the food slot bounces off the far wall.

"Are you OK in there?"

"Mostly," a girls voice says through the slot.

"I'm going to reach though the slot with a tool, so please grab it," Amy says, pulling out the hard-shelled worm she made on the way. It extends to it's full length of nearly 16 feet, and wiggles through the still smoking food slot.

"Thank you," Pinky says, "Let me see, there we go, all cut off, now let's," she pauses, "And that part is done. You can open the door if you want," she nibbles on her bottom lip, "Yeah, I think she's girl-shaped now, but."

The vault door opens, and Trickster and Sundancer run in.

A moment later they come back, Noelle carried bridal style, wrapped it Trickster's coat, and a bit of her butt showing, because the jacket isn't long enough to cover everything. She's breathing, but asleep.

Pinky steps up, looks at the girl's face, tilting it side to side by her chin, "I think that's how she should look."

"Close enough," Sundancer says, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. If you need any other repair or biomod work, please give me a call. I'm sure you'll find my rates are quite reasonable."

"We will," Sundancer says, "How long will she be out?"

"Another couple hours, to let her systems stabilize and clean the fatigue poisons out."

Trickster nods, "Thank you," he says, his voice a little husky. It doesn't suit him.

The Travelers walk off towards their apartment, and Pinky slips into the vault, unpleasant gucho-gucho slickery noises emanating from within while I shove the vault door open further, the three foot thick steel heavy, but on good hinges.

Light flows in, illuminating Amy armpit-deep in a pile of . . . squirming . . . meat, with skin and bones sticking out. The pile is huge, bigger than a van, probably bigger than a tank, and writhing in the grip of Amy— of Pinky's power. The bones shift and move, dark chitinous armor forming on the outside, bat like wings with orange membranes, rocket nozzles, a head with horns, a segmented tail. Whatever it is becoming, it is really creepy, buglike, and huge. And it's a bug to my power. A hatch opens in the kneeling humanoid figure's chest, and Pinky climbs inside. I can hear her giggling through the new "bug's" ears. She waddles the suit to the vault door. Before I know what to do she's gathered me up in the giant bug's hand, easy as picking up a porcelain doll, and is carrying me towards the exit.

"Your money?" I ask.

"Oops," she says, her voice amplified, and sets me down.

I run back, grab up the case, and walk back to her, "They're probably going to shoot at you in that thing."

She sighs, "But giant robot."

"How are you going to feed it, anyway?

"Powers."

"Powers?"

"That girl's powers."

I stop and stare.

She twists, pulling her giant bat like wings back, to look at me though the bugs multiple eyes, a green one in the center of it's face, a red one on either side, closer to where eyes should go.

"Does it still produce evil clones?"

"No, but it grows guided missiles." A pause. "And regenerates." Another pause. "And if I got the armor right, it should tank 120mm APFSDS."

I hold the briefcase in front of me in both hands, and rock back onto my heels. "I think you broke the scale of awesome."

"Let's get you in the cockpit," she says, kneeling again, holding her hand out flat for me to climb onto. I vault onto the long-fingered hand, and she brings it to the thing's chest. A large armor panel lifts upward, and the lower two splitting and swinging wide. Pinky is curled up inside, chin tucked to collarbones, supported by pillowy flesh that deflates as I watch. I take a deep breath, think that maybe I should have told Amy what the locker smelled like, then climb into the blood-scented, squishy, slightly slimy cavity.

"Put the case at my feet," Pinky says, then draws me into her lap. I press my face to the top of her masked head and try my hardest to pretend I can smell her peach scent. The hatch closes, leaving us in the dark, the soft, squishy flesh inflating around us, pressing me into Pinky, locking me in place. My breath speeds up, only Amy's soft curves under my hands keeping me from clawing, kicking, biting to escape the close, hot, smelly darkness.

"Shh," Amy says, "Look through the Zwauth's eyes. Hear with the Zwauth's ears. Feel with the Zwauth's skin."

I look, Coil's stronghold small, the door low enough that we'll have to duck, the catwalk at waist level, our rocket pods almost brushing the ceiling.

"I know, the Zwauth is still half-scale or so, but a thirteen meter biological robot wouldn't fit in here," Amy says, her voice warm against my breasts, the blood smell in the Zwauth slowly changing to her signature peach, "Sorry about the smell, it doesn't bother me, so I sometimes forget that it bothers other people."

I breathe her calming scent, and ride along as she maneuvers twenty feet or so of scary out the fifteen foot entry tunnel, and out under the twelve foot ceiling of the parking garage. We waddle ungracefully out, and Coil's men, thankfully, let us. I can feel Amy's power flowing through me, through the Zwauth, the amplifier like a giant relay bug, my range brushing the edge of the graveyard, the edge of town.

"Should I grow it to the proper size? I'll need to quadruple it's mass."

I accept Amy's attempt to distract me, "Can it support that? Will it be too slow?"

"Yes, and no. With the current materials I can probably go sixteen times heavier without running out of safety limit."

"The bigger you make it, the harder it gets to hide," I say, "And while I guess the current color scheme matches your sources, it doesn't match your theme."

She laughs, "Cunt pink would be better?"

I know I'm blushing, and I know she knows, so I blush harder, "If you like," I manage after a minute.

She laughs at me, starting as a giggle then devolving into a full cackle. She tries to throw her head back, but the Zwauth has a firm grasp on us, and her head barely wiggles under mine. "Most people probably wouldn't notice."

"Maybe if you make it glossy enough?"

She giggles into my breasts again, "A Zwauth should be matte, or semi-gloss at most, I'm sure." She brings the Zwauth to a fast walk, then a trot, then a full run, leaned forward, picking up long, clawed feet and letting them fall, "And I think I just broke the story."

"Broke the story?"

"You've read Heinlein, right? _Number of the Beast_ in particular?"

"The one with Gay Deceiver?"

"Yep. Sturgeon's law, fanfic, everyone is someone's story, and most of our writers either suck or are out to get us."

"So letting you hijack Noelle's power for your giant robot."

"If we're lucky we have an author who adores giant robots and lesbians. Probably they're setting us up for a fall."

I force myself to relax, going limp a few muscles at a time, "It would certainly fit, either way. Think we'll end up with a harem?"

"Not unless we work at it, or Parian and Flechette would have followed you home to beg forgiveness after stabbing you."

I nod, "Yeah, and I think a relationship with one person is as much as I can handle, unless we can find someone willing to do more than her share."

"Yeah, I'm kinda at my limit, too. It's," she pauses, slowing the Zwauth to a walk, "I had, I wanted Victoria to love me like I love, loved, her." she sighs, "But the Vicky I loved isn't the Vicky who's flying around, the Vicky who's brain I messed with without asking, the Vicky who's trust I broke."

I run that in circles in my brain a little, "Wasn't the Vicky you actually lived with, then?"

She nods, "The Vicky I loved never really existed. You exist. You're real. You don't know the real me, can't anticipate all my needs without any effort on my part, can't effortlessly fix what I need, or want, fixed." She hugs me tighter a moment, looking around at the warehouses near my territory, "Are any of these good for hiding a giant robot in?"

"You can't collapse it into a lenticular gem on the back of your hand?" I ask with a laugh.

She stops in the middle of the street, motionless, both the Zwauth and her body.

After long enough to make me worry, she starts cackling, "I can!" The Zwauth starts towards the beach, "But you are real. You ask the right questions. You see me, even the parts I'm not showing on purpose. You want me."

"I think I might need you, too."

The shock cushions deflate a bit, and she twists, her tongue soliciting entrance as she kisses me.

It takes a long time before I realize I was wearing my mask before she kissed me. The mask she made. Mystery solved, I turn most of my attention back to girl who's lap I'm in.

It is a while before we make it to the beach. I suddenly feel the strange bug wrapped around my neck and shoulders.

"You should be able to put the mask on with your power," Pinky tells me.

I feel at the bug, and it flows, stretching and squishing, gathering my hair behind me as it covers my head.

"Good, I'm opening the cockpit."

My phone buzzes as soon as the door opens. I pull it out of my pocket, the less slimy one, luckily.

Amy pokes me, "Out."

I look up from the screen covered in increasingly worried messages from Tattletale, and see the Zwauth's hand in front of me. I climb out, Amy- Pinky hands me the case of money, then climbs out after me, and she lowers us to the ground. I hop down, turn and offer her my hand. She takes it, stepping down.

"What do you think?" she asks, holding out her left hand. It is wrapped in a white glove, a shiny green lens-shaped gem mounted in golden metallic bracelet, which comes to a point at the back of her hand.

"Pretty. Does it work?"

She kneels, touches the shiny green lens to the Zwauth, and it vanishes, then the glove draws back, the bracelet part shifting as it climbs up her arm, under the slimy pink sleeve of her body suit, "Looks like."

I hold out my hand, then lead her down the beach toward the storm sewer entrance to my lair, poking my phone with my free hand. I look at her as it rings, the lens has turned pink, and the golden bracelet is now a silver necklace.

" _Hey_ ," she says, " _You're alive?_ "

" _Honeybee-T_."

" _Praying-mantis-R_."

"Where are you at? I have stuff to tell you, and I don't trust the phones."

"I'll be back at my lai- place in a few minutes. I've been out of cell service for a while."

"Your dad was at the debate, but he'll be OK."

"How," I pause, "You looked for me there."

"The plan was for you to crash the debate."

"Well, I got distracted by how awesome my girlfriend is, then someone called about something they wanted her to do, and she showed me that she's even more awesome than I would have imagined."

Pinky squeezes my hand. I glance at her, and her mask has pulled back so I can see her grin. I squeeze back.

"So they're leaving town?"

"They might have some more work for my girlfriend, first."

"I'll be at your place in, oh, half an hour. Don't start anything you won't finish before then."

I blush, and Pinky laughs.

-PatB-

A/N: Amy hasn't actually watched Aura Battler Dunbine, but she did look for biological giant robots, and found a number of Zwauth images, and some pictures of garage kils. She has watched ReiEarth . . .

The Good Idea Fairy has Amy's phone number, in case it wasn't obvious.


	18. Chapter 18

-PatB-

Amy's in my lap, kissing at my neck, when Lisa, she's not masked, comes up the stairs to my bug room.

She blushes, and I tilt my head at her.

"Anyway, Coil's not dead. I had a big reveal for you, but," she gestures toward me.

I pull my hands out from the back of Amy's shirt, "But?" Amy leaves off my neck to turn in my lap, looking at Lisa as well.

"Thomas Calvert. Now in charge of the PRT."

"Noelle's been depowered, Genesis may pay for some repairs, and Amy turned Noelle's power and excess biomass into a giant robot."

"So what was this morning's awesome?"

"Bomb bugs," I hold my hand up, fingertips together, and land one of the slow, heavy beetles on them.

"Oh my," Lisa's grinning even more than at the thought of Amy with a giant robot.

"And fireflies."

"Fireflies?"

"Thermite!" Amy and I say together. We look at each other and laugh.

Lisa makes a choked sound.

I laugh, looking back at her, "And that was before Amy took Noelle's power to generate biomass from nothing."

Lisa reaches behind her, feels for a chair, then collapses onto her butt.

"I have no idea how to use that against exponentially-increasing-density endbringers, but we should be good for most smaller threats. No sign of Dinah in the range of my relay bugs."

"Exponentially increasing density?" Amy asks, "Endbringers?"

"Yeah," Lisa answers, "I don't know what they are, but they were never human, and they're playing with us. They are layered like an onion, only each layer is denser than the last."

"I need to touch one, then," Amy says.

I pull her back against me, my arms clutching around her waist.

She leans back, presses her cheek to mine, "I bet that would let me grow the most interesting things. Just with Noelle's power I should be able to build a positron rifle, but I don't know how deep it would get. An anti-neutron or negatron-"

Lisa interjects, "Antiproton. Negatron was just a word for negatively charged electron."

"But electrons are," Amy pauses, "Doesn't matter. An antiproton rifle should get much deeper into such a creature."

"How do you produce antimatter with a living . . ." Lisa goes silent for a long time, "Powers are bullshit."

"Do you want a living giant robot?"

Lisa flops the rest of the way back, spreading her arms to either side, "Sure. Purple and green, of course."

"Of course. We'll need to experiment to figure out a control system for you, because neither mine or Taylor's will work for you."

"Yeah, not a bio-kinetic nor a bug controller," Lisa tells the ceiling.

"Are we still on to meet the boss this evening?"

"Yes, we are," Lisa says.

"You know he's almost certainly not going to give her up, right?" Amy asks me, pulling back to look me in the eyes, "It wouldn't fit the story."

"Maybe we're on the edge of happily ever after?"

"Closer to the edge of he dies, she dies, everybody dies, I fear."

"What are . . . " Lisa goes quiet, staring at Amy, "That's crazy. Fits reality closer than most religions, but still crazy."

"Yeah, I'd really like to believe my life isn't someone's bad fanfic, but Sturgeon's Law."

"Maybe it's a good fanfic?"

"Maybe it's a major cinematic release. Doesn't much matter. The most likely thing to happen is the one that makes for the best story."

"I bet that's a really stressful way to live."

"It was. I seem to have dropped into a romance, so," Amy shrugs, "So long as it doesn't turn into a mystery novel I'm gonna relax for a while."

"I think you may have been reading the wrong mysteries."

"Most of them, the love interest dies."

"Because they were written by single men, for single men. Can't tie the recurring protagonist into a long term relationship, and don't want to remind their audience that it's really hard to maintain a relationship when you can barely support yourself."

"And it would spoil the mystique if she got a job, and made more money than him, and they were still broke all the time, and fighting over money."

"Probably," Amy sighs, then stands up, rolls her head around with an audible pop at one point, then smooth black material flows out from her neck, covering her completely, then grey armor plates emerge, with a blue cabochon gem just above and between her breasts, a single blade on the helmet, elbow spikes, glowing eye-plates, and a stern cast to the only vaguely feminine robotic face.

"Guyver?" Lisa asks.

Amy strikes a heroic pose, left hand on her cocked hip, right loose at her side, "And if I was?"

"The gem goes over the bellybutton, and there's a sort of round thing at the base of the head spike."

Amy saunters over to the mirror, the edges of her armor plates blushing pink, the centers fading to almost white. "You're just jealous."

"Damned right."

"If you ask nicely," Amy fades to match the wall color, slowly blending the bodysuit seamlessly to the armor through skillful color choices that minimize the effects of the drop shadows.

"That's just cheating," Lisa says, impressed, "Taylor, your girlfriend is amazing. Are you willing to share?"

Amy looks at me, tilting her head, chin rising.

"We were discussing that earlier, and decided that we don't have enough to go around unless the new girl is willing to do more than her share."

"Yeah, that'd be a problem, wouldn't it. All three of us are kinda high maintenance."

"No," Amy says, "Or at least not Taylor, she just needs more repair. I'd like to think I do too."

"Well, I think I'll always want more cuddling and cosseting," Lisa says.

"If that's all," I quirk an eyebrow at Amy, and she nods the tiniest bit, "Maybe we could have a date, after we get Dinah back?"

Lisa smiles, looking back and forth between me and Amy, "Maybe. It'd be fucking awesome."

Amy giggles, soft and sweet, "You just want me for my power."

"You're also really cute, and you latch on really tight, like Taylor. If we could make it work, it would be entirely on me to fuck it up."

"So I'm not cute?" I fish for a compliment before I can censor myself.

"You're fucking gorgeous, tall, broad shoulders, muscles, long, elegant hands, those green eyes of yours."

"You're nuts."

"She's completely right," Amy contradicts me, her armor flowing back around her neck, "But I think your hair is lovely, too."

"I don't -" I stop myself before I call my girlfriend a liar, even though I can't believe either of them.

Amy climbs back into my lap, hugging me close, "Then accept that I feel that way."

Lisa comes up, too, and puts a hand on my shoulder, "Me too, OK? I thought you were pining over Brian, until Amy showed up. My gaydar's kinda busted, even with my powers, so," She looks at Amy, then at me, then Amy again, then leans towards me, lips first.

I glance at Amy, get a tiny smile and nod. I lean up the last half inch. Lisa tastes oniony, her lips soft, eager.

She breaks the kiss, looks to Amy, leans in towards her. Watching them kiss is a little sexy. Beyond that, I don't know what I'm feeling, so I wrap an arm around Lisa, and hug her, too.

-PatB-

A/N: Lisa's motives aren't entirely, or possibly even mainly, motivated by her hormones.

And that was Amy saying she can make an Evangelion . . .


	19. Chapter 19

-PatB-

Coil's stronghold has been cleaned out since earlier in the day, the last of the boxes out, the soldiers gone, the Travelers in their apartment. Amy color-matches to the concrete, but is still fairly visible, particularly when she moves at a walk or faster. Our steps are loud in the nearly empty space.

Genesis rolls out to meet us, "That's a new trick," she tells Pinky.

Pinky's armor plates shift to a pink-highlighted white, the bodysuit staying gray, "Practicing. Money?"

"Here," Genesis holds out another briefcase.

I take it, open it, spot-check the bundles of twenties, "Looks good."

"What do you want?"

"I want to walk again, feel my feet again, and all the parts in between."

"Hand," Pinky says, holding out her own.

Genesis takes it.

"Hmm, let's see, that should do it. Wiggle your toes. Good. Pinch your thigh. Good. Hand in your pants, check those parts."

"Really."

"That's part of what you're paying for, so."

Genesis looks away, but sticks her hand down the front of her pants anyway.

"Good. You'll need to eat a lot of dairy, full-fat, liver, meat, fish, because you'll need the nutrients to finish the repairs, myelinate the nerves properly, joint parts, too, gristle, or bone broth, to grow some more cartilage."

Genesis tries to stand, falls back into her chair.

Pinky tells her, "I've built up your leg muscles as much as I can, but you're going to have to eat and exercise before you'll be able to walk much."

"I will. Thank you."

"No problem."

"Give us a call if you need any followup. We'll make house calls to a certain distance, but I don't know how far that will be yet," I tell her.

"I will, we will. Thank you."

We look at each other awkwardly for a moment, then Pinky fades to grey and Genesis turns around and rolls back to the Traveler's apartment.

Up twenty flights of stairs. Pinky's grumbling quietly to herself after ten, then is quiet again after twelve.

I look over my people, Grue looking a little better, Imp dangling her feet off the edge, Lisa looking pretty, Bitch calm, and Regent returns my look with a laugh, followed by a joke, "What does a lesbian drive to a second date?"

Lisa snorts. Amy laughs. "What?" I ask.

"A U-haul," Lisa, Amy, and Regent answer together.

I groan, and drop my face into my hands. Imp cackles.

"What?" Grue asks.

Lisa starts explaining, and I turn to Imp, "My range is much improved, recently, but you're very exposed, and it wouldn't be impossible to put a sniper outside my range and still hit someone."

"Oh," Imp says, and retreats from the edge of the building.

"Thank you," Grue says.

I wave it off, and start in on explaining my preparations.

-PatB-

Coil says he'll give me Dinah.

It was too good to be true, of course.

I'm reminded of the Weird Al song, "They locked the doors and tried to kill us," as I try to figure a way out of a locked, burning room, the windows boarded, with only what I'm carrying and a gunshot wound. Unfortunately that does not include any bomb bugs, but I have Amy's knife, and a gun.

I cut one board free before the pain and difficulty breathing stop me. I collapse a moment, put the knife away, maybe the bullet can cut a couple boards at a shot, if I angle it right?

*POP* splinters fly, the recoil jerking the gun back, my wounded chest unable to control it, the slide hitting my mask slightly off center.

I drop the gun, suppressing a cough, hurting, choking on the smoke. My range suddenly expands, as the Zwauth's amplifier gets close enough, and I start laughing, "Over here," I tell Amy.

It drops in and out of my range a couple times, scaring me, mapping edges of my range, then roars straight towards me, the batlike wings used as control surfaces, the rocket pods blowing superheated air.

I fumble for the gun, sending cockroaches to eat the wires in the trucks, cutting their power, their lights, and one truck crushes under the Zwauth's feet. Not the one Calvert is in, of course. He abandons that vehicle, and runs. I swarm him, chewing and biting, cockroaches flying in to bite.

Clouds of bomb bugs pour from the Zwauth as it kicks a truck onto its roof, a huge curved sword it its right hand cutting a different truck in half.

Some of the bomb bugs die as I bring them close to the burning building, so I detonate more, blowing the fire back, or even out in places. I start blowing holes in the walls, at the opposite side of the room from me, since I'm not very good with them. The wall turns into splinters, and the floor starts to sag underneath me. Five steps, and I'm out in an awkward, breathless, tumble.

The impact hurts, but I'm out of the fire and into the firefight. Most of which is aimed at the Zwauth's tall, dark shape, the gleaming light on the single curved edge of the sword, the rest dark, shifting shadows with the occasional flash of orange wing membranes.

Calvert continues to run, probably hoping to get out of my range. I lay flat, the soft garden dirt under me, minimizing my exposure, and continue chewing on him with roaches, hundreds of thousands more flocking in, tired and hungry after flying far longer than they would on their own.

We chew through his belly skin, into his abdominal muscles, and he collapses, screaming, if the way he twitches is any indication.

Closer, the firefight dies, the trucks destroyed, men squashed, broken, or fleeing into the darkness. I tag the ones who try to run, tucking small flyers into their costumes.

I force myself to my feet, walking toward the Zwauth, which is staring at the fire, sword grounded next to it, slumped hunch-shouldered. "I'm," I try to yell, then almost collapse, coughing, "fine," I manage after a moment, in a much smaller voice.

The Zwauth is down on one knee, Amy tumbling out, missing her step. I shuffle hurriedly to her, as she groans and pushes herself up with her hands.

"Stay down, and get your mask on!" I tell her as loudly as I dare, pushing on her shoulder as I drop to my knees beside her.

Her pink bug mask flows up the back of her head and down over her face, and she lays on her side, "Yeah, I was worried when you vanished. The girl wasn't Dinah, even though she kinda looks like her," she shifts, reaching for me, "Ow."

I take her hand, "You need to watch that first step, huh?"

She laughs, flinches, "Yeah," she pulls me closer, puts her hand on my face, and the damage fades away, my ribs no longer hurting, the aches from falling out from the second floor, "Did he escape?"

"He's down, a few blocks from here, being eaten by cockroaches."

"Yum," Pinky says, forcing herself up into a sitting position.

"Are you OK? What did you break?"

"I don't think I broke anything," she gathers me into a hug, "But I certainly don't have your pain tolerance."

I squeeze her back, relieved, gently. "Back into the giant robot," I tell her.

"OK," We bundle her into the Zwauth's cockpit.

She sets me back down, sheathes the sword, in the shield on the left arm, I notice, then picks me up, "Which way?"

We collect up Calvert, who's gibbering slightly, sobbing in pain, all of his exposed skin chewed off, his eye sockets filled with roaches. "Um," I mumble, sending the roaches off.

"Yeah, we should probably fix him a bit before we turn him over," Pinky says, picking him up. His already slender form turns skeletal as his skin regrows, eyelids plumping out, nostrils and earlobes reforming, "Put his hands together against his tummy."

His skin flows together, binding his hands to his body. His eyelids twitch, but don't open.

"Calm down, you hypocrite. I just sealed your lids shut, your eyes are fine now. Even if I don't put you back to normal a surgeon can, with a few skin grafts. Where's Dinah?" Pinky asks him.

"You won't find her," he mumbles.

"Really. Is she dead?"

"Yes."

"You know I figured out your body double the moment she showed up, don't you?"

"How?"

"Different girl, in a different costume? What kind of girlfriend would I be to miss it. Too bad for her she didn't know where Skitter went."

I look up at the Zwauth's head.

"Dead girls tell no tales," Pinky says. I chose to interpret that as the body double being alive.

"Dead PRT Directors don't, either."

"True. Let's try this."

Calvert shudders, gasping, twitching. This goes on for a minute, then he goes limp.

"Where's Dinah?" Pinky asks him again.

He stays silent.

"Where are Regent and Tattletale?"

"He doesn't like that question," Pinky tells me.

Calvert convulses, arching like a bow, only the top of his head and the heels of his boots touching the Zwauth's hand, almost falling off before Pinky grabs him again, and he collapses to gasping limpness.

"Is Dinah with Regent and Tattletale?"

"She is," Pinky answers for him.

"Are they where Uber and Leet are?"

"Yes," Pinky says.

"Your headquarters?"

"No."

"PRT headquarters?"

"No."

"Zap him again."

"Docks," Calvert gasps, "Warehouse."

Pinky closes the Zwauth's fingers about us, and we're in the air, my amplified range sweeping forward almost faster than I can process.

It flows over my headquarters, the burnt, still-smoking ruin of one of my barracks, a buzzy, staticky warehouse, "There," I point.

We settle slowly to the ground, Pinky feeding biomass into my mask, down, under my bodysuit, which splits under the pressure, the tattered remnants held as silhouette masking drapes, footholds for my bugs, leaving me in a giant Skitter-shaped bug. Her voice whispers in my ears, "Until we can steal a proper power for it, you've got about fifteen minutes before it goes to sleep and becomes just heavy armor."

I nod. She sets us down, me on my feet and Calvert under her foot, the point of one of the Zwauth's toe-claws in the curve of his elbow. She cuts the power lines, shearing through a brick wall on the backswing, then steps forward, with the foot not holding Calvert, and stabs the thoughtfully glowing mass of tinkertech inside.

It deflagrates, a series of shockwaves flinging parts, smoke, and shrapnel.

The diesel generator gives a wheeze, and dies, ticking occasionally as it cools, broken glass tinkling and roundish parts rocking back and forth the only sounds breaking the silence.

"I want Dinah, Regent, and Tattletale. Front and center. Now." I yell into the room, my swarm accumulating slowly, darkening the night as the faster fliers start to block out the sky.

One of the men shoots at me. The new suit tanks the round easily, although I rock back a half step.

The bomb bug I reply with blows the gun from his hand, as well as a couple fingers. He drops, screaming, clutching his ruined hand to his belly.

"We're waiting," I say, my swarm voice already much stronger.

Someone brings up an RPG launcher. Another bomb bug takes care of that, the man in question keening, blood leaking from his ears, out of the fight.

"Anyone else want to be maimed? Or will you give us our people back. Calvert can't pay you anymore."

A featureless door towards the back opens, letting out insecticidal fumes, and a man near it sets his rifle down, and a handgun, before moving to pull it open.

He steps inside, pauses, moves, pauses, moves, and the fumes penetrate his clothing, finally killing my tracking bug.

Tattletale walks out, Dinah, hopefully, a younger girl, anyway, with her. Regent is a little groggy, staggering, as he steps out. Shatterbird walks out behind him, glances around quickly, then continues forward, towards me, and the hole in the wall. Broken glass slides along the floor, swirling up her legs, forming a halo around her as she walks.

The Zwauth's sword slams into the ground near me, point first, then Pinky makes a grab for Shatterbird.

She dodges the left hand, jerks in the air, and the Zwauth's right hand wraps around her.

The broken glass tinkles as it falls to the ground again.

"I guess I don't need to pay as much for mercenaries, then?" Tattletale asks.

"Severance pay for the ones not maimed or dead, probably," I answer, swarm-voiced.

-PatB-

A/N: Taylor must have been very distracted to forget her bomb bugs.


	20. Chapter 20

-PatB-

Pinky and I lean back against Crawler's glass form, Calvert, with a bag over his head, asleep at our feet.

"Crawler's too dead, I think," she tells me, "I can't feel his power at all."

I nudge Calvert with a blue-armored foot, only now noticing that my big toe is separate, but the others are bundled together, like tabi socks. I wiggle my toes, watch my armor shift with them, "This is different."

Amy looks at me, follows my gaze. I hold my foot up a bit and wiggle my toes.

"From the source material."

"Could you go Vibram Five Fingers with them?"

"I guess so?" she looks at her feet, and the armor wraps down between her toes, "I think this'll make my feet wider," she goes up on the balls of her feet a moment, her toes spreading out.

"Feet aren't supposed to be shoe-shaped."

"Then why are shoes?"

"Because some idiot decided they were pretty? Like how they'd bind girl's feet in China?"

"Hmm," she says, laying an armored hand on my shoulder. My toes stretch apart as the armor flows between them, and I wiggle them up and down, like piano scales. Not that I've ever played piano.

"Incoming," Tattletale says, over the repurposed motorcycle intercom we're using with our radios.

A PRT van stops a safe distance from us. A couple men get out the side door.

"You wanted to give us a parahuman prisoner?"

"Yes, he'd infiltrated the PRT, and was causing trouble," I say, my armor changing my voice, lifting it a half-octave.

"New heroes?"

"Something like that."

"Who is he?"

"Coil."

"Coil's dead."

"Rumors of his death were exaggerated, or, more precisely, he faked his own death. I'm going to remove the restraints I put on him, but he'll be sedated for a few more hours. Get him into an MRI before he wakes up, he had access to a lot of money, and a lot of secrets, so you need to prove he's a parahuman before you let him unmask."

"Let him?"

"Infiltrated the PRT. Lots of blackmail."

"That'll do it," Tattletale says, as the PRT troopers pick up Calvert's stretcher, "He's in the hands of Internal Affairs, and will be going into an MRI before they take his mask off. He's done."

"Good," I whisper back at her.

Pinky leads the way, sauntering off with a deliberate sway to her pink-highlighted armored hips.

I follow after. A few blocks, and a few turns, later, we cut through an abandoned building. Lisa joins us, watching as Amy's armor practically vanishes. Mine takes a bit longer, contracting into something not entirely unlike a set of quarterback pads, under my t-shirt, down my spine. I pat Amy's back, rap my knuckles against the armor over her belly, "I'd feel safer if you had something protecting your head."

"It'd show too much, currently."

Lisa's looking at us, "How," she pauses, "Shatter-" she pauses again, then gathers my girlfriend up and kisses her, "In case," she says, "I haven't told you recently how sexy you are."

Amy laughs in her face.

"There is a food-truck near the boardwalk, at the opposite end from my lair. Greek, supposedly fairly good."

Amy grabs my hand, "That sounds good to me," she holds out her other hand, "Lisa?"

Lisa gathers up my other hand, "Me too."

Amy cuddles closer as we walk, slowing us down a bit, and Lisa follows suit. Amy squeaks, and I look to find Lisa's index finger in her back pocket. I ponder how that's even possible, my arms wrapped around each of their shoulders.

"I'm horning in on your first outside date, aren't I?" Lisa asks, suddenly, "Would you like me to butt out?"

"We invited you along," Amy says, "Unless you'd prefer to continue risking dying a virgin?"

Lisa and I just stop, and Amy swings around to look at us, "We don't have to," she says, looking down at my feet.

"I'm just surprised we're jumping from over-the-bra groping to threesome."

"You almost died. I could have killed myself tripping out of the Zwauth. He could have killed Lisa instead of locking her up," her eyes shimmer, tears gathering at the corners, but her voice doesn't shake much.

I gather her into a hug, and Lisa wraps herself around us both.

After a bit she wiggles, pulling back.

I smile at her, "If that's what you want, I'm willing."

Lisa has a grin on her face, "I can't think of any objections."

Amy looks at her, "Liar."

"OK," she says, "All of my objections are drowned under the thought of having the two of you in bed with me."

"Taylor is that hot, isn't she?"

Lisa nods, happily, "She is," she says, taking Amy's other side, and slipping her hand in Amy's back pocket.

I wrap an arm around Amy's shoulders again, and we continue along the slowly-recovering street.

After lunch, we walk up the shattered boardwalk, looking in on shops where the owners are cleaning up, past the ones still boarded from Leviathan, past a couple that are actually open for business. I make a point of spending a bit in each of those. It's mostly, well, entirely, fripperies, but some of them make Amy or Lisa smile, and Imp might like that, Grue that, I have no idea if Regent will like that, but I got it anyway.

I'm carrying a pile of bags by the time we get back to my lair, and I drop them in the bug room before following the other two up the stairs.

They are standing, Amy already nervous, shifting uneasily, looking around, her gaze refusing to settle. Lisa's getting there, pulling at her shirt a bit, glancing at the bed, then Amy, then me.

I take a deep breath, then pull my shirt off, dropping it on the floor, start on my belt, "Bath?" I ask, working the buttons before shimmying my pants off.

They catch on my shoes, so I hop once, twice, then fall on my butt, jeans around my ankles, both hands on my left shoe. All of their attention is on me, as intended, but it is still a fight not to blush. It's not like I'm anywhere near naked, my armor covers me from neck to halfway down my panties, even if my position . . .

I force that shoe off, yank the cuff over my foot, free that leg. I untie the other shoe, and it comes off much easier.

Amy tosses her shirt in my face, and I look up, stare a moment. She jiggles a little, tiny movements of feet and calves and knees, and her bare breasts jiggle a lot, her lens a green gem in a gold pendant.

"Meep," someone says softly. Lisa's looking back at me when l look to see if she said it.

"That's totally not fair!" Lisa sheds her scoop-neck shirt, then her bra, a little more naked than Amy in ten seconds or less, "Why are other people's boobies fascinating?" She cups hers, shaking them a moment.

Amy's eyes go wide, "Because reproductive success?" she asks. She bends a little, picking up one foot, then the other, shedding her shoes, then slides her slacks down, kicks them off, straightens, shoulders back, hands on her hips, head high, chin tucked back, white ankle-high socks and green panties.

"What?" Lisa asks, after several moments of admiration.

"How many grandbabies would you have if you spent all your time playing with your breasts?" Amy asks, picking her heels a half inch off the ground, then dropping back down again. Boing. She grins at me, I can see it in my peripheral vision.

I throw my socks after my pants, then peel my armor off, get my feet under me, and shove my panties an inch down one hip. Both of them are watching me. It feels . . . I shove the other side down an inch. Lisa whimpers, and I blink at her, surprised. Amy steps up, one hand on either of my hips, her thumbs reaching into my waistband, "May I?" she asks, so close.

I manage a nod.

She steps a little closer, nipples brushing against my belly as she drops to a knee, plants a kiss to my solar plexus, giggles at the way it makes me jerk, pushing my underwear towards my knees.

She stands, stepping back, her hands going to my waist as I shake my panties off my feet. The blatant admiration, the want, in her gaze. I shiver, and it's not because of the warm room.

Lisa moves, toeing off her low-heeled shoes, a slide, a zipper, then her skirt, grey panties following with a shake of a leg. I don't know if I'm surprised, but her mons, to use Heinlein's words, is bald as a grape.

Amy pushes her panties down, an inch at a time, side to side, but quicker than I had. Her curtains, as I should have expected, match the drapes, a short thatch of red-orange curls.

-PatB-

A/N: Even when one knows better, hormones make dumb decisions so attractive.


	21. Chapter 21

-PatB-

"So, sleepy, are you ready for a bath?" Lisa teases Amy as she wakes.

"And could you put this thing away? It's hard again, but way too sensitive to use right now."

Amy mumbles, running her hand up and down it, "Better?" she asks after a moment.

"Yeah, but put it away anyway."

"Fine," she huffs, "I do the impossible, and you want me to put it away after using it once."

"That was more like four times,"

Amy's eyes open wide, "What?"

"We were on our second time with it when you passed out, I didn't know people did that outside of bad romance novels,"

"Yeah, they do that sometimes," Amy agrees.

"Then Lisa reassured me you would be fine,"

"Seven or eight times,"

"And then,"

"I wanted to ride Taylor's pink torpedo, too."

"Oh," Amy says in a small voice, "I told you it was a bad idea." She pushes down on the "torpedo," setting it back in place, then parts my hair gently, giving things a visual inspection. "You're safe, wrong time of the month, and no sperm about anymore."

"Time of the month?"

"Sperm?"

I'm not sure which of us said which.

"I have no idea, my lube was stringier than normal, but other than that and somehow thinking unprotected sex with my girlfriend was a good idea . . . " she trails off, then shrugs.

"What?" Lisa asks, propped up on one hand, looking down at Amy, who's finding the ceiling fascinating.

"You mean, instead of having perfectly safe sex with two other virgins, you decided it was better to have 'risks getting my girlfriend and my best friend pregnant sex' instead?"

"Yes?" Amy asks the ceiling.

"You thought," Lisa starts, her voice already sharpening, "That having Taylor's baby would-"

I slap my hand over her mouth. She licks my hand. That would have been a lot more useful to her a few hours ago . . . I shake that thought off while she attempts to give my hand a hickey, sucking, licking, and nibbling, "I admit, this was a rough last few weeks, but was this really a good idea?"

"Probably not, but," Amy shrugs, "I'm almost 17, it shouldn't be too much of a risk for me. I don't know how old Lisa is, but if she doesn't want to, or doesn't want to now, I can take care of it, either way. And that's if," she puts a hand on Lisa's tummy, "Well, it's the right time of the month, and the sperm are swimming their girly tails off."

My hand drops off Lisa's mouth, and I'm staring at her flat tummy, dumbfounded, completely at a loss.

"Girly tails?"

"Yeah, standard spermatogenesis, but I didn't make Taylor a Y chromosome. All girl sperm."

"Oh."

"I made a hundred thousand this week, and can certainly afford a baby even if I only work a few days a month. Now isn't a good time, but it isn't really a bad time, and I'm fucking scared the other shoe is gonna drop," Amy grabs my hand, and places it on her tummy, "If it doesn't, and I get pregnant, would you help raise my daughter?" She doesn't turn her eyes from the ceiling.

I turn her head to look at me, kiss her, "Of course I would," even through the swirling confusion I can say nothing else, "Our daughter," I clarify. "Next time we're gonna have unprotected sex, I want to know beforehand."

She smiles at me, the right side of her mouth curling up more than the left.

Lisa flops over, tucking her head under Amy's chin, "If I knew, we might not have, but," she shrugs, "Coil's gone, Noelle's depowered, Leviathan already attacked, we have plenty of money. There are much worse times to be a teen mom. And the odds aren't that good, even if it is the right time of the month, right?"

"No, but they are non-zero. That's why they make Saturday afternoon specials about it."

Lisa nods, eyes closed, "I don't think I can stay with you too long, too close. Same house, maybe, same relationship, probably not. Too mean."

"Maybe you can control the mean?"

"Or maybe I'll say something horrible enough to one or both of you," Lisa tucks a hand under Amy's shoulder, "If I get pregnant, I don't want to be the mother who's only had sex with another person once."

Amy pats Lisa's back, "We can work something out, even if you're an asshole sometimes."

I give them both a hug, "Bath now?"

Lisa nods. Amy says, "Lets."

-PatB-

I puff a glob of bubbles at Lisa, "First time you masturbated?"

"Watching internet porn."

"Reading. Some SF paperback," Amy says.

"Reading, but I think it was a hardback. I masturbated to a lot of books."

"First cinematic full frontal nudity?"

"Monty Python's The Life of Brian," Amy answers.

"Same," I say, "I was really surprised, just pop, naked girl, boobs and bush, big as life on the TV screen."

Lisa laughs, "Internet porn, again."

"First male full frontal?" Amy asks, poking me with a foot under the water.

"Um," I pause, "Watchmen."

"Internet porn!" Lisa answers.

"Watchmen."

"First exposure to porn?"

"I was like, "Eww, people put this up on the internet?" at eleven," Lisa laughs, "and just a little bit later it was all "Ooh, people put this up on the internet!" by the time I was twelve."

"Romance novels, oh, fourth grade, followed by internet porn as soon as I figured out how to get around the filters. I got Mark in so much trouble," Amy looks down at the bubbles.

I gather her into a hug before I answer, "I found someone's collection of porno mags in the basement, somewhere around first grade. I thought they were fascinating, getting to see all those people without any clothes," I laugh, "and they paid such close attention to the interesting parts! The ones everyone kept saying to keep my hands out of, that almost no one would let you look at," I smile, shaking my head, then sigh, "Emma was the first girl who would trade looks with me."

Lisa shifts closer, and leans in, wrapping around us both.

-PatB-

A/N: Stories where not communicating drives the narrative annoy me. That doesn't mean these three's talking will always lead to good decisions.


	22. Chapter 22

-PatB-

I'm cuddled into Amy when the dulcet tones of Spinal Tap's "Big Bottom" wake me.

Lisa's singing along, "I'd like to sink her with my pink torpedo,"

I bury my face in Amy's hair.

"I'd hoped it was a coincidence," Amy tells me.

"How could I leave this behind," Lisa stretches the last word along with the singer.

I sigh into Amy's hair and get up.

Charlotte has breakfast ready when we get downstairs.

"Good morning," I greet her.

She nods, blushes, "Good morning."

"Oh, we were," Amy clamps both hands over Lisa's mouth.

A moment later she squeaks, pulls Lisa down a bit, licks her ear. "Don't lick my fingers when I'm keeping you out of trouble."

Lisa shudders, dropping to the floor, eyes rolling back, thighs trembling, breathing hard. Amy steps around her and takes her normal seat, "Don't mind her too much, she loves to hear herself talk."

"You guys were rather loud yesterday. I took the kids for a walk when they started asking questions."

My ears are hot, "Thank you."

Lisa recovers enough to climb into a chair, "We should be able to move them to a new location now," she starts, "If you want. I'll have Coil's candidates bow out in your favor today."

"Is Christner still in the race?"

"He's still in the hospital."

"Would you mind repairing him?" I ask Amy.

"No, I don't think so," she agrees, "After lunch?"

"That should work fine."

Bacon, eggs, and potatoes eaten, Amy stands up, pulls Lisa's chair out, and turns it slightly.

Lisa sets her fork down, looks up at Amy.

Amy draws her hands down Lisa's face, settling them on her shoulders, thumbs on Lisa's neck.

"What are you doing?" Lisa asks, after a moment.

"Fixing a lifetime of malnutrition. Narrow face, narrow head, narrow shoulders and pelvic girdle are all the result of inadequate prenatal maternal vitamin D, the short jaw and under calcified bones started there, but like the burgeoning insulin resistance postnatal diet is a big influence there," Amy frowns a little, "Getting people symmetrical is kinda," she pauses, grins, "That's how to do it."

I look over Amy's shoulder. Lisa's still Lisa, but prettier, somehow, nose a little wider, face a little rounder.

"Lose the contacts," Amy continues, "That was inadequate outside time, as well as not enough maternal vitamin A."

"Don't they tell people not to eat too much vitamin A while pregnant?"

"Yeah, A and D synergise, too much of one shows up as a deficiency of the other, and you need K2 as well,"

"OK," Lisa nods, "What do I need to do?"

"Eat liver, plenty of good yellow butter, from cows eating green grass, not too many carbs or too much sugar. Eat a wide variety of foods, to get your B vitamins," she quiets a moment, "I think that's about as much as I can pack in there."

"What do you mean?"

"Traditional societies load up on fat-soluble vitamins before trying to get pregnant, on top of having diets higher in them than Americans. I filled all of your fat with them."

"OK," Lisa says, staring a moment before wrapping her arms around Amy in a hug. After a moment she smiles, a bit crookedly, "I'm gonna be running into doorframes and my costume's not gonna fit, is it?"

"Probably," Amy says, pulling back to meet Lisa's eyes, "Excuse for me or Taylor to make you a new one?"

"If I'm getting a new costume, could you make me a little taller?"

Amy bites her lower lip, her head tilted a tiny bit to the right, looking in the direction of her left hand, then nods, "You'll probably have another growth spurt, pick up a couple inches, just with what I've done already."

Lisa smiles, "That would be plenty, but if you do it all now I'll have more time to adapt, and you won't have to keep making me costumes as I grow."

"Or I could just make you a costume that'll grow with you," Amy shrugs, "Your jeans definitely won't fit at all if I grow you two inches right now."

"I'll bring some sweats, and we can go shopping afterward?"

"That might work," Amy nods, and lets go of Lisa's shoulders, "Eat another plate, or two."

"Roger," Lisa says, giving Amy a sloppy, two-fingered salute.

Amy turns to me, hand on my waist under my shirt, shoving under the waistband of my jeans until she touches skin, and Lisa pulls her chair back to the table before reaching into her shirt, right hand down the neck and left up from the bottom, rehooking her bra.

"I'm not flexible enough for that," I tell Amy, pointing at Lisa with my chin.

She twists, nods, "Hook and turn?"

"Yup."

"Do you want to be taller too?"

"This is fine. No more than six inches, if you'd like me to be taller."

"Hmm," she steps up against me, my chin brushing her forehead, "Would it be awkward to kiss you if you were tall enough for me to tuck under your chin without ducking?"

"Let's find something for me to stand on."

"In a minute," she steps back again, her hand still on my hip, my armor pinching, then shifting, as I change shape slightly, my jeans stretching across my hips, tighter than I'm really comfortable with, but not straining the fabric.

"I'm gonna have to learn how to run again, aren't I," I ask.

"Maybe. Nasal volume is about doubled, lung volume is increased about a quarter, your hips were almost right, shoulders rather narrow, so your balance is gonna feel weird for a bit," she pulls her hand out, and starts opening cupboards, "This'll do," she says, coming back with a frying pan, "Up."

The frying pan is maybe three inches high, so Amy's more than a little bit under my chin height.

She pulls me down and kisses me, and it's no more awkward than usual.

The kiss breaks after a minute, and Amy pulls back, looking up at me, "Down," she says.

I step off the frying pan, and she tucks under my chin, slowly straightening, like she's pushing me upward, my armor stretching as I do. She steps back, looks me up and down, then nods, steps back up to me, and rests the top of her forehead against my chin, "Right here," she says.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders, roll up onto the balls of my feet a bit, and tuck her under my chin. She snuggles in tighter, making a contented-sounding noise.

-PatB-

A/N: Amy may be a preachy SOB, but she may be right, too.

2017 December 14: 45,405 words


	23. Chapter 23

-PatB-

My armor is Skitter-colored, and shaped, covered in scraps of dark grey silk, which are covered in bugs, as we walk up to the hospital. Pinky's armor looks like something from Kamen Rider, only in pink, instead of the Guyver-esque look we both had yesterday.

Pinky walks up to the receptionist, who's just past the point of pleasantly plump, grabs her hand, "We're here to see Mayor Christner."

"Why," the receptionist pauses, staring at me, "What should I tell his people you are here for?"

"I'm not going to win the Mayoral election by default. I refuse," I say, "So Pinky's willing to repair him."

Pinky steps back to me, and the receptionist busies herself with the intercom.

"She's bothered me for months. Eats too many sweets, whines about being fat, but won't fix her diet because what I tell her doesn't match what Coke is pushing," Amy tells me, the intercom crackling lightly, on purpose.

"What did you do to her?" I ask back over the intercom.

"She's gonna piss out 90% of her carbs until she hits 30% body fat, and sweets and carbs are gonna taste bad to her until she hits 25%."

"Isn't that hard on her kidneys?"

"I reinforced them to cope with the extra filtering load."

I contemplate that while we wait. Obesity and ballooning health care costs are a less pressing threat than Jack Slash ending the world, but if Amy knows how to fix them . . .

"His bodyguard will be down to escort you up in a minute."

In the elevator I ask her, over the intercom, "Can you weaponize what you just did? Make it airborne? Without it mutating into something terrible?"

Pinky rocks back onto her heels, her toes coming off the floor. The elevator opens then, and we follow the bodyguard.

We stop outside a hospital room, while the guards, and a rather weak-sounding Mayor confer again. The guards don't want us in the building, much less the room, and the Mayor's saying something entirely reasonable about how if I wanted to kill him he'd be dead already.

"Probably. I can definitely make it into a vaccine. Doesn't even need to be a shot, just a needle prick like smallpox," Amy interrupts my eavesdropping.

"Hmm."

"Come in," the bodyguard waves us in.

Pinky brushes past the guards, takes the Mayor's hand.

"I also," I tell the Mayor, "Wanted to explain why I came to your house."

"Oh?" he asks.

I can tell she's already done with him, but she continues to hold his hand. Perhaps keeping him calm?

"Coil had your niece kidnapped, because she is a strong precog. In order to get her back safely I had to get close to him. I got a promise that he'd release her, but that didn't pan out, so I had to destroy his organization. Your two opponents at the debate? They belonged to him."

He sags back against the pillows, "So it's me and you, now?"

"The city's in much better shape than it was, in terms of gangs and parahumans. All we have to do is keep it together, and things will get better."

"Yes," he sighs, "But there's so much damage. It's going to be hard work to make it better."

"Hard work is the best kind," Pinky says, letting go of his hand, giving it a pat before walking back to me.

"Eat," I tell him, "I want you back on your feet quickly." I open the door and let us out.

Pinky starts down the hall, opening doors as she goes, reading charts. Every few patients she'd touch a hand or face. At the fourth one she tells me, "This sort of retail healing is so draining. It never ends, and it's almost all the same fucking metabolic bad-diet crap. This one," she waves at the old lady in the bed, "Pneumonia and osteoporosis, compounded by narrow bone structure. Lack of fat soluble vitamins, too much carbs, going back generations. Patched her up with plenty of fat soluble vitamins, she'll probably live another thirty years, if she eats her liver, unless the end of the world gets her."

"Cancer," she says of the next one, "Too much sugar in the diet, too many carbs. There's a reason cancer's pretty fucking rare in the fossil record. It makes you feel sick, you don't eat much during fruit season, it eats all the available sugar and dies back. Only rich folks, who could afford beer and sweets year round, used to die of cancer."

"Trauma," this patient looks like something from a movie, his? her? form wrapped in bandages, neck and one leg in traction, "Motor vehicle wreck, spinal damage. Lack of fat soluble vitamins slows healing, too."

"How does food get vitamins?" I ask, "You said cows make K2 from green grass."

"Yeah, they convert K to K2, much better than humans do," she leans back against the wall a moment, "And the grass makes K from dirt, air, and sunlight. D is made from cholesterol and sunlight," she shakes her head, "Don't let me get started on the stupidity that is sunscreen."

"People make A from beta carotene?"

"Some people. I don't know why some people don't, but," Pinky shrugs, "Higher body fat doesn't help."

"And E?"

"Deficient, almost everyone."

"B vitamins?"

"Water soluble. B12 needs cobalt," she pushes off the wall with one shoulder, starts down the hall to the elevator, "Let's go find some experimental subjects."

"Where?"

"Where do the hungry kids live?"

"Oh."

-PatB-

We're walking through my territory, among the scattered low-rent apartments, glad-handing and talking up Skitter for Mayor. Amy's in a dress, and she got me into slacks and a button-down. None of the people she's touching here are changing.

Once we leave the neighborhood, walking through warehouses to the next clump of apartments, nearer Tattletale's old lair, Parian's new one, I ask about it.

"Yeah, I'm spreading a virus. This batch incubates for a week, very contagious, no external symptoms, while it builds up vitamin stores, then triggers a little growth spurt, mostly wider, sometimes a little taller. I'll come through in a month, see how things are going, maybe adjust the incubation period."

I laugh, "You're the best supervillain ever. You're destroying the profits of evildoers everywhere."

She cocks her head at me a moment, then smiles, "Yep. Bai bai drug companies, bai bai insurance companies, bai bai hospitals, too bad, so sad cardiac surgeons everywhere. And they won't be able to adapt," her smile starts falling, "Because the world's gonna end before our daughter is two years old," Her face is blank when she finishes speaking, staring into the distance, away from me.

I stare, useless, for a long moment, then shake myself, pull her close, tuck her face to my armored bosom, nuzzle her hair, "Then we just have to save the world."

"Just."

"You made a giant robot, a stupidly-complex giant robot, out of Noelle's extra biomass and her power. You weaponized a cure for almost everything on the walk over here. You can figure it out."

"You don't understand, I've been bench-racing this shit with myself since I triggered, villain gear, healing plagues, prototyping the hard parts. I know I'm a bad person, but I just don't care anymore."

I pet her hair, "Is it bad to take your buddy, who's strung out on whatever, and keep him off his drug of choice until he's sober enough to make a decision?"

"That's different, retail, not wholesale, targeted treatment instead of fluoride in the water."

"Does that make it bad? You can't be everywhere. There's something like a hundred million people with metabolic issues in America. If you fix a thousand a day, it will take you twenty seven years."

"But I don't care that they're sick, I just don't want to repair them anymore."

I rock side to side, "You could just stop."

She looks up at me, eyes wide, "That would make me feel even worse."

"Then maybe you do care? Or even if you just want to preserve your self-image, does it much matter so long as they come out OK in the end?"

She buries her face in my shirt again, and I rock her again. "How can we stop it?"

I make a quizzical noise.

"The end of the world."

"Killing Jack should put it off," I sigh, "But unless we know how the world is supposed to end," I nuzzle her hair again.

"How do we kill Jack?"

I shake my head, my lips brushing across her hair, "Bedem, maybe?"

She pulls back a little, tilts her head enough to look up at me with one eye, "Bedem?"

"The bioweapons from Iczer-One? Wrap, squish, splurt," I shrug a shoulder, "We'd need some way to keep them from indiscriminately killing everyone, but it should be easier to keep them from mutating than a plague."

"Maybe. Or maybe Dragon will get him."

"If Dragon was going to get him, she would have already."

"Probably. She wastes way too much time fucking with petty crooks and politicians," she pulls back, smiling at me, "But I repeat myself."

I stare, then reach tickling fingers towards her.

She turns and runs, her skirt fluttering about her knees.

-PatB-

A/N: Supervillains don't need to ask permission, or pass ethics board reviews . . .

And Taylor shows off her math skills.


	24. Chapter 24

-PatB-

Amy's playing with my hair, and I turn to look at her, a smile already creasing my face, the morning air cool where the sheet's slid down my back. Her hair is mussed, eyes soft, just a tiny hint of smile to her lips, a bigger one to the set of her cheeks and eyes, "Is it time to get up already?"

"No," she says, "You can go back to sleep, I like just looking at you."

"But I'm already awake."

"That doesn't mean you can't go back to sleep," Amy says, petting my hair again.

I roll off my tummy onto my side, then wiggle closer, cup her cheek in my hand, then stroke it over her bare shoulder and down her arm, "It kinda does. I could lay here and let you pet me, but I'm not going to get back to sleep before I get up, and probably not until tonight."

"I could put you to sleep, if you wanted."

"I need to go pee soon anyway," I reach under the sheet and wrap a hand around her waist, my other hand cupping her face, and she shifts the last few inches, pressing up against my belly. Her mouth, as always, tastes of mint.

"In that case, we should take advantage of being awake," she shoves against my shoulder, pushing me over onto my back. She grins, straddles my waist, then leans forward to kiss me.

It is much later, the clock says eight, that we are dressed for our run.

-PatB-

Our table is a hundred and five feet from the doors of Arcadia high, a huge banner saying "Skitter for Mayor" on the wall behind us. There is a red chalk line marking the hundred foot mark. Amy's among the people standing in front of the table, a stack of fliers in hand, smiling at passerby, shaking hands, asking people to vote.

She reaches for a tall woman's hand, pauses, then grabs it, "Carol," she says.

Carol's eyes widen, "This is where you've gotten to? Gotten up to? What are you doing to me?"

"Repairing your PTSD. The physical part, anyway. You need to work on the mental part, or you'll fuck your brain right back up again."

"You can't-"

"Didn't. I'm getting much better at it. You need to work through whatever happened, because the anxiety and anger weren't all hardware."

"Why am I so calm? I should be trying to kill you for this."

"You never did love me, but I love you anyway, I can't remember any mother other than you. The barbiturates should wear off in a half hour or so."

Amy lets go of Carol's hand, wraps her in a hug, then gives her a turn and push towards the doors of Arcadia, "Make sure to vote!" she calls loudly.

As soon as Carol vanishes inside the doors she sets her stack of fliers down and vanishes around the corner.

I follow, and she's crying, back to the wall. She reaches for me, and I step towards her. There's a hollow *Clunk* as she cracks her head against my armored bosom, hidden, again, by a button-down shirt.

"Ow," she mutters, rubbing her head a moment, then pulls my shirt out, getting a hand on my armor, which softens. "Better," she says, rocking her head against me.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Should we go home?"

"Just hold me for a while."

"OK."

It is some time later, and I'm leaning against the wall, Amy nearly asleep against me, petting her hair, eyes closed, barely paying attention to the bugs around. A quick distortion, someone flying, and I open my eyes to see a blonde in a skirted white costume stalking closer. I shove off the wall, keeping my arms around Amy even as I send four of my sixteen bomb bugs climbing out of their indentations in my armor, dropping one at a time out the side of my shirt that I hadn't tucked back in.

"Is she OK?" Glory Girl asks. There is the faintest hint of fear in the air, her aura almost entirely locked down.

"I'm fine," Amy answers, not even opening her eyes.

"You do know that is an acronym, right?" Glory Girl asks me. I notice that she isn't wearing a tiara.

"Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional," Amy says, squeezing me tighter, "Did Carol call you?"

"She did. I was worried. You left me locked in a closet with a note."

"It only locks from the inside."

"Yeah, I figured that out after I ripped the door off."

Amy giggles.

Glory Girl shrugs, "I was fucking pissed off for a couple days, so the note probably was a good idea, but then I got worried."

"Why?"

"Because you're my sister and I love you, but not like that. Even if I liked girls, you're my sister first, so awkweird."

"You do like girls, always have," Amy says, eyes still closed, face still tucked to my bosom.

"Eh, maybe, I don't know," she shifts from foot to foot a moment, "They aren't anywhere near as interesting as boys."

"Not as easy as boys, you mean."

"No," Glory Girl is looking toward the street, "Maybe?" A pause, "But whatever you did to my brain was," she shudders, "Yuck. I felt like scrubbing my skin off,"

"With a rusty S.O.S. pad?" Amy asks.

"Because I was such a pervert. And I knew you'd messed with my brain, but I was wrong, so wrong, to want," and she's crying.

"I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry."

"You work so hard, rescued me from myself, fixed my mistakes. You've been better to me than any of my boyfriends, maybe all of them," she sighs, "If you weren't my sister, maybe."

"Kissing cousins?"

"Eww," Glory Girl whines, "Maybe. If you had enough trust to," she cuts herself off, "If my cousin Amy told me she liked girls I would have at least set her up on better blind dates."

"And your sister Amy?"

"Should introduce me to her girlfriend?"

"Victoria, this is Taylor, Taylor, this is Victoria," Amy says without moving, other than to hug me tighter.

Victoria meets my gaze. After a bit, she smiles, "Take care of my sister, she's completely awesome."

"I know."

She looks at something on the wall behind me, "Good luck on your Mayoral campaign. Mom said she voted for you."

I'm blinking stupidly at the spot where she was for several seconds after she leaves. I look to the side, and realize that the wall behind me is covered in bugs, the alley floor, drifts of flying bugs, and there are now nine bomb bugs in the air.

I put four of them back up my shirt, protected by my armor, and the other five I hide in my hair, "Have you been planting more bomb bug bushes?"

"They plant themselves," Amy tells my shirt.

I hug her tighter, because that seems like a bad idea.

"They grow fireflies, fire midges, and relay bugs, too."

"Off the same bushes?"

"Of course."

Of course. I nuzzle her hair, and try to think of how to put it safely, "You're the mostestest awesomest girlfriend in the history of everything. You don't have to keep trying to top yourself for me."

"I'm not trying. Remember how I said I prototyped the hard parts?"

I nod.

"The bush of many bugs, and the bugs planting themselves for seeds? It was the easy way, 'cause I'd already worked it out, so that's what I used. Then I realized it probably was a bad idea, but they were already in the wild, so," she sniffles, "We left a bunch at the warehouse where we rescued Tattletale, as well as the house Coil set on fire."

"Oh," I say, and kiss the top of her head.

"But supervillain now, so potential ecological disaster is in the job description."

"A little more warning would be good, next time."

"I told you before we went to depower Noelle."

"Oh," I sigh, "I'd completely forgotten. Thank you."

-PatB-

A/N: So that's out of the bag, now. Carol will be angry once the tranquilizers wear off. She'll probably get over it before she sees Amy again. Probably.

2017 December 16: 45,616 words


	25. Chapter 25

-PatB-

(cat /dev/random ended up with, for the last digits, 2c, which is an even number, so Skitter won. Poor girl. Poor Director Tagg, too)

I'm staring at the radio, then put my head in my hands, "What the frilly heck," I quote Willow.

"Mayor Christner endorsed you this morning," Lisa says, "Just before lunch. Made a speech on the radio about wanting to work with you on a smooth transition."

"I agreed to run because I couldn't win, and it'd be funny."

"Well, you won."

Amy pokes me, "And it's even more funny. You promised nothing, made no claims, other than that you'd continue doing what you've been doing. I guess that was good enough for most of them."

"What about the villain thing?"

"What about it? They can't prove much, and Marion Barry got reelected after serving time for smoking crack. So long as you look after the city," Lisa shrugs, "And don't kill anyone you can avoid, I think it'll be neat."

I just stare at Lisa a while, and Amy asks the question, "Neat?"

"I've taken Coil's assets, and you now have the legitimate side. I think we can do more with this city than anyone has managed in decades."

"Parian's downstairs," I tell them, masking up as I start down the stairs.

Amy and Lisa follow.

Sierra rolls up the shutters.

"Congratulations," Parian greets me at my door.

Flechette is with her, hands away from her weapons, "There is good news and bad."

"Bad first," Lisa answers.

"Jack and Bonesaw raided Blasto's lab, stole samples from dead members of the Nine, and Blasto, and are in the wind again."

"The good?"

"The Siberian is gone. Dragon killed her. Three other members of the Nine bought it, too."

"Fuck," Pinky cusses, "No balance there at all. I need a genetic sample from Jack and Bonesaw, but even if I had them, I couldn't cover enough ground fast enough."

"What?" Flechette asks, jerking to look at her.

"I can make anti-Nine weapons, but I need a sample if I don't want them rampaging about and killing random people, and even then it'll take days to cover the state."

"Blasto's in Boston," Lisa says.

"Even worse."

"I found out a couple hours ago, and it happened last night."

"Well, we may have found how Jack Slash is going to end the world. With Blasto and those samples, they are going to be back, sooner or later, with an army of clones," Pinky sighs, gestures the pair inside.

"Put the kettle on," I tell Sierra. "Would you like some tea?" I ask our guests.

Parian sighs, "Please," and takes her mask off, setting it on the table while she takes a seat.

"Sabah," Flechette says, softly, imploring.

Parian turns her pretty cafe-au-lait face to Flechette, "The world is going to end in two years, unless we stop it," she sounds tired already.

Lisa returns from closing the shutter, unties her domino mask, drops it on the table, "Lisa."

A twitch of my power, and my mask flows back under my shirt, joining the rest of my armor, "Taylor," I take a seat opposite Parian, Sabah.

Pinky's mask vanishes down her collar, "Amy," and she climbs into my lap, facing our guests.

Lisa takes a seat next to us.

Flechette looks back and forth, then sighs, dropping heavily into a chair. Sabah reaches out, gives her hand a squeeze. Flechette squeezes back, takes a deep breath, and pulls her mask off. She sets it on the table, looks at it for a long moment, "Lily," she finally says, looking up at us.

She's a very pretty asian girl.

"Taylor didn't volunteer me, because she hadn't asked, but if you have people who need repairs after the Nine, let me know, and we can work something out," Amy tells Sabah.

Flechette, Lily, blinks, "Amy Dallon?"

"Amy Lavere. Carol kicked me out a few, oh, it's been more than a week, now."

"Panacea."

"I go by Pinky for my cape name now."

"Pinky," Lily says dubiously.

Lisa decides to sing the answer, "They're Pinky and the Brain, Pinky and the Brain, One is a genius, the other's insane." She doesn't sing well, but she is enthusiastic.

"Really," Lily's even more dubious now.

"Rebranding as a biotinker rather than a healer. Acknowledging that I'm a little crazy should help keep me from raising unfortunate expectations."

"Such as?"

"Merchantability or suitability for any particular purpose," I can tell Amy's smiling, even with her looking away from me.

Lily nods.

"A couple of my people need much more work than the money I got from you can provide. If they come back, would you be willing to heal them for their share of that money?" Sabah asks.

"How many people?"

"Six."

"Bonesaw really makes a mess of people. Bring them by, I'll have a look. It shouldn't cost too much," she reaches across the table, palm up, "Sabah?"

Sabah looks at me, then places her hand in Amy's.

Amy nods, lets go of her, reaches towards "Lily?"

Lily glances at Sabah, "What did you do?"

"Repaired malnutrition damage, improved symmetry a bit, filled her fat soluble vitamin stores."

Lily takes Amy's hand.

"What do you get out of this?'

"Reassurance that I didn't fuck up when I weaponized this."

"What did you do?"

"Viral agent to do what I just did to you."

"And you need reassurance?"

"Because I released it a couple days ago, and I'm 95% sure I'm infected with it."

I clench my arms about Amy's waist.

Lily gives Amy's hand a squeeze, and lets go, "Thank you."

"Thank you, Amy," Sabah says.

"You're welcome."

Sierra sets the hot kettle on a trivet on the table, then brings cups and the tray of different tea bags.

"Should I head out for the night?"

"If you want. We can lock up."

"I'll be back at seven."

"See you in the morning."

Sierra heads out the basement entrance, and I choose an Earl Grey teabag, a blue cup, and set it to steep.

"Eat some seaweed," Amy says, passing Lisa a packet of toasted seaweed snacks, "I can't tell what's broken as designed and what is mineral deficiency yet," she opens a packet for herself, offers me a sheet, takes the second, and gestures towards the tray, "Help yourself, most Americans are mineral deficient, too."

"So, is that all you did?"Sabah asks, picking up some seaweed to go with her tea.

"Also improved mechanisms for preventing sugar poisoning."

"Sugar poisoning?"

"Yeah, obesity, insulin resistance, metabolic syndrome. Civilized humans don't get enough vitamins and eat too much carbohydrate," Amy shrugs, "I fix that, and 90% of our healthcare costs go away. 95% of the healing I've been doing these last few years, too."

"And people starving in Africa?"

"If you're at 25% body fat, you're not starving. You may not be doing well, but you're not starving."

"And the people who are insulin resistant but not fat?" Sabah asks.

"Carbs taste bad until their resting insulin goes back to normal."

"Oh. And it isn't going to mutate on you?"

"I ECC'd the fuck out of it, so it should take a while."

"Morris worm?" Lisa asks.

"ECC?" Lily asked at about the same time.

"ECC is error correcting code, redundancy to prevent data change. Eyeball genes are full of it, for example," Amy tells Lily, then turns to Lisa, "Morris worm?"

"The great worm? Self replicating patch that didn't check for other running copies of itself? Broke the Internet in the '80s?"

"Yeah, it prevents reinfection with itself. The people I modded by hand are immune, also."

"Eggs?" Sabah asks, "I assume sperm will begin to be produced with the modifications."

"That was a little tricky," Amy nods, "But I made it a dominant trait, which should work around that for the current generation. I can change your eggs, but I haven't figured out a safe way to change gametes without personal attention."

"Did you change them?" Lily asks.

"No."

Lily glances at Sabah, sits back in her chair, "Does it cross the placenta?"

Amy cocks her head, thinking, "Maybe? If the mother's infected while pregnant," she shrugs, "It'll be safe for mother and child either way. It'll depend on how leaky her placenta is."

"How leaky?"

"Some people make placentas that filter really well, others leak all sorts of things, including entire cells. That's part of how mothers develop antibodies against later children."

"What?" Lily asks.

"Rhogam?"

Blank look.

"Rh blood factors, people have them — positive blood types, or they don't — negative blood types. Exposure to Rh positive blood can cause Rh negative people to develop antibodies towards Rh positive blood."

"Oh," Lily says, "Antibodies, immune response, miscarriage."

"Or non-fatal attacks on fetal blood, leading to other mild to severe issues."

"Severe?"

"Brain damage and permanently disfiguring injuries."

"Ow."

"Rhogam is Rh sensitive immune globulins, so it helps keep from sensitizing, by attacking the leaked Rh positive blood before a native immune response occurs."

"Is there anything else to be done?"

"With conventional medicine? Pretty much no."

"But you can."

"Because powers are bullshit."

"Awesome. Story-breakingly awesome," I correct her.

"You're biased because I got you a threesome with a redhead and a hot blonde."

Lisa preens a bit.

"A really hot redhead and a blonde," I agree, "But that doesn't make me wrong."

"Wait, what?" Lily asks, "I thought you liked boys."

I give her a quizzical look from around Amy, "When did you ever? And I though I was being rather obvious, anyway," I give Amy another squeeze.

"It was just a feeling, from the way you looked at a couple people. And I though you were just being friendly."

"Huh," I lean forward, prop my chin on Amy's shoulder, "I think I'm kinda bi, boys are muscly, girls are a lot more cuddly. Boys tell me they think of me as a sister and girls shoved me into a locker full of used hygiene products."

Lisa drops a hand on my thigh and gives it a pat.

"Not these two," I go silent a while, I don't want to tell anyone, but I already told Amy, Lisa's probably figured it out, neither of these two will share it around. Probably, my eyes drift over Sabah's, Lily's. A deep breath, out, "Shadow Stalker turned my best friend, the summer before high school, and they picked up a third, and proceeded to bully the hell out of me from then until this spring. Barely stopping Lung did a lot for my perspective, so."

"You carved out his eyes," Lily says, squeamish.

"The second time. The first time I stung him so much his balls rotted off. They grew back, but I think that made him a little mad."

Sabah actually laughs, "You think?"

I give her a big smile, "Yeah, it seems likely."

"She saved me from a bad time that night," Lisa outs herself.

Lily's eyes widen a moment, then she nods, "Tattletale?"

"In the flesh."

"On the local scale," Sabah asks, "What are we doing now that we've, you've, gotten rid of the other villains and been elected Mayor, what are we going to do?"

"Clear out the boat graveyard, dredge the bay, rebuild, Kill Leviathan or use him to make a giant robot-"

Amy twists around in my lap, laces both hands into my hair, and proceeds to kiss me for several very nice minutes.

We break the kiss, Amy's gasping and breathing hard, Lisa's watching us, fascinated, lustful, and a bit jealous if I'm reading her right, Lily's carefully not watching, and Sabah looks away, cheeks red, when she notices me looking. I look back at Amy, who still has her eyes closed, a smile tilting them up, "I guess you like that idea?"

"Yes," she husks. My belly clenches at the sound.

Lisa's tiny whine seems to indicate a similar effect.

"And make the city safer and cheaper to live in."

"And on the other side?"

"Find Bitch a place where she can run her dogs, legalize the prostitutes and get rid of the pimps, fix the drug problem, normalize the gambling so it's sustainable once we legalize it, because I can get that through the city council."

"What do you mean by fix the drug problem?"

"Pure food and drug act, basically. I think, so long as one knows what one's getting, one should be able to poison oneself with whatever one wants. Legalize and tax, and drugs will be cheap enough that either users will be able to sustain their habits and a life, or they'll OD and die, or they'll end up in treatment because they can't handle their drug of choice."

"Isn't that a little harsh?"

"Isn't that what we have now, with more profits for criminals and lives ruined by busting users?"

Lily looks down at her hands, "I guess so."

"And more people poisoned because what they took wasn't what they thought they bought," Amy adds, turning around in my lap, "Every week I've got some poor idiot who wanted some X and got god knows what instead."

"Hmm," I sigh, "Don't want to do protection rackets, but we could run private security anyway. Don't think there's going to . . . Pit fights, and other sports betting. Roller derby, boxing, pro-style wrestling, other violent sports that people like playing as well as betting on, we should be able to make a profit off that. We don't even need to compete with the internet for another week or so."

Amy starts laughing, "If you told me last month I wouldn't mind being without internet access for two weeks," she shakes her head. "We could empty all the bank vaults."

"Too late," Lisa says, "They shipped most of the cash out right after Leviathan. Insurance reasons."

*Chk* Amy makes a disappointed noise with her cheek, "There goes that idea," she leans back against me, "Make a giant sponge to filter gold and other metals out of seawater, and blow the silt out of the bay?"

"Make a bush that grows flawless, 40-carat diamonds, in whatever color the customer wants?" Lisa offers.

"Bai bai global warming!" Amy laughs, "Unless De Beers has us whacked for destroying their cartel."

"Why limit it to diamonds? Make a bush that grows gemstone fruit, like in the Arabian Nights, and sell the bushes."

Amy starts cackling, "Sterilize the explosive potato plants, and sell baby plants."

"Explosive potato?"

"About two years ago, I spent a couple weeks researching explosives, made potatoes that are full of RDX instead of starches, and peanut plants that grow blasting caps. Almost blew my fingers off, even worse, I almost got caught." I hug her tighter.

Lily stares.

"It was a Harry Potter joke," Amy says, "Well, other than it really happened. "We could be killed, or even worse, expelled!" you know?"

"Whoosh," I say, and wave my hand over my head. I lean forward, grab my teacup, and sit back, take a sip. Amy squirms, so I loosen my grip enough that she can get her cup.

"Hmmph," Amy more says than huffs.

Once we finish our tea I walk Flechette and Parian to the door, thank them for bringing the news, as bad as it is, and say that we hope we'll see them soon.

I watch them walk off a moment, then look at Lisa.

"Can I stay?" Amy nods behind her.

"I guess so," I close the shutters, then lock the door, "What's up?"

"Probably psychosomatic, but I was sick to my stomach this morning."

"Probably," Amy agrees, brushing her hand up Lisa's neck into her hair, "She's implanting, and dividing normally. As healthy as she can be at this stage."

"That's good. How are you doing?"

"Can't mess with my own biology, and any little blastocyst in my tummy counts as me."

"Can't you use a tool?"

"It's too early even for a blood test," Amy sighs.

"You can make a giant robot, but not a baby-scanner?"

Amy cocks her head, bites her lip, slumps her head onto her hand for a moment, breathing. After a bit she shakes her head, "Not safely. I'll have to keep thinking about it."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Lisa tells her, with a step and a grab and a spin, Amy's feet off the ground.

Amy's laughing and batting gently at Lisa, so I think she's OK with it.

Lisa sets Amy down, "And my lair is really lonely by myself. I was hoping to invite myself to a threesome with a pair of stupidly-hot girls?"

Amy pulls back a bit, looks at me. I give her a twitch of my lips and a tiny shrug.

She cocks her head and raises an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching down.

"If you don't want to, we won't."

"That's not what I meant!" Amy says, exasperated, "Do you want to?"

"It would make Lisa happy, which I'd like. Other than that," I shrug again, "Having sex with you is amazing, having someone to cuddle at night is awesome, if having Lisa over puts that at risk, makes you uncomfortable, jealous, whatever, tell me, and we'll fix her her own bed."

Lisa's shrinking, head drooping, shoulders slumping, which makes my chest clench a bit.

"I don't want to make you unhappy," Amy says.

I take two steps back, slump against the wall, and bonk the back of my head into it gently, *thock* "You being happy really helps me be happy," I contemplate what I just said, try again, "I like making you happy, doing things that bring you joy. Having sex with you and Lisa would be nice. Having sex with just you would be nice, too, and I wouldn't feel deprived or put upon either way."

"Then why did you give me such a grumpy look about it?"

"That was a bit of a shrug and a bit of a smile, which I meant to mean "Whatever you want is fine.""

"I was trying for "I have no idea what you want, could you tell me?""

"It looked like, "Are you really saying that?""

"Not what I was trying to say," Amy turns to Lisa, "It might take a bit to restore the mood, but if you're still interested, we are too."

Amy and I each take one of Lisa's hands, and we climb the stairs together. The mood is quite recovered by the time we're all naked.

-PatB-

A/N: And this is a really long scene. But Amy wanted to talk a lot, so . . .

A guest review called Amy's rant off putting and compared it to juice diets . . .

On the one hand, we only have anecdotes and literature reviews: google "zero carb zen cancer" for anecdotes, and "PMC3267662" for the literature review. And the fact that **fruit** **flies** develop tumors when you feed them too much sugar.

On the other hand, we're unlikely to get data, because there's no money in it, and compliance rates suck for all diets.

On the gripping hand, this is a fanfic, so Amy's right in the story, due to story-breaking understanding of biology, chemistry, and engineering . . . (Atlas, anyone?)


	26. Chapter 26

-PatB-

Lisa and Amy are sharing the other pillow, Amy somehow sleeping with her face in Lisa's hair, spooned up behind her, her hand on Lisa's tummy. Amy spent a good five minutes rubbing Lisa's tummy while she fell asleep.

It's not a land war in Asia, but having a baby, or more than one, because you have delusions about unconditional love?

I guess she never watched actual babies. For all the cute, and the joy of watching them grow, there's hours of needy, wanton crying, the refusal to be soothed, the waking up in the middle of the night, repeatedly, diapers, and spit up, and it's so nice when you can give them back to their parents after eight hours or less.

I'm fifteen, I'm not ready to be a mom, or a dad.

Wait, it's the last week of June, I've been sixteen for better than two weeks.

Still not ready.

As Amy said, it could be worse, could be a lot worse.

We're not rich, but we're definitely not poor. Lisa's rich. If we're splitting Coil's assets between the Undersiders, maybe I am rich.

We're not fighting Noelle in the streets, the Nine are going to ground, and won't be back for a while, even if they're gonna have a clone army when they do.

I'm going legit, Mayor-elect Skitter, so the PRT will have a bit of trouble going after me.

Hopefully.

I rap my knuckles against my head, knock on wood.

They're both so pretty. Lisa's nose twitches. I brush her hair back, away from her nose. She's even prettier since Amy worked on her, how much of that is more symmetry and how much of that is retroactively better nutrition — both are supposed to be attractive, and together I guess is so much better. I spend a moment trying to place the song lyric — female singer, sorta ballady — before giving up.

And Amy . . .

Amy is so vibrant, even when her hair isn't sparkling pink. Panacea was so sad, all the time. The few times I saw her smile, it didn't reach her eyes. Pinky's smiles start at her eyes. She is so happy, so much of the time, working on things, being cuddly, just watching me. It's very flattering that she finds me anywhere near as interesting as I find her.

Maybe we'll get over this creeping feeling that our girlfriend is an idiot for loving us. It would be really nice to lose the vague crawling dread that she's going to come to her senses and leave. Maybe we'll acclimate, soak in the love and care until the worry fades away.

Or maybe we'll have to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it.

I scoot up closer to Lisa, barely not touching, and close my eyes, Lisa's definitely not minty breath in my face. I tuck a hand under my pillow, yawn, and relax. Nothing else to be accomplished tonight.

-PatB-

Lisa interlude:

I wake to the feeling of eyes on me. Amy's hand is on my belly, Taylor's minty morning breath, and that is totally cheating, on my face. The bed reeks of sex and peaches, oddly pleasant.

-Taylor's contemplating a romantic gesture

-Cheesy, song-based

-Amy would love it

"What are you planning?" I ask softly.

"Paint a huge heart on the Medhall building's white marble facade."

"Do you have the paint?"

"I know where there is a hardware store."

"Epoxy paint will last best."

"I was going to etch the design with fire midges to help the paint stick."

"That should help it keep shining through."

Taylor's smiling, I can tell just from her voice, "Powers are bullshit."

After a moment she kisses me, then climbs out of bed.

-Knows Amy's disassociated

-Knows meeting her needs is necessary, but not sufficient

-Feels unworthy of being loved

-Copes by being a badass. Defeating strong enemies makes her feel useful

-Is worried about her dad. Hasn't visited

-Is freaked out by the idea of being a parent

-Thinks Amy wants a child to love her

I'll have to tell her that Amy needs people to care about, more than anything else, to slow down her response to the good idea fairy.

-Already knows Amy is a little emotional trauma and a good idea fairy away from ending the world

-Amy knows how to make Ice-9. Destroyed her sample after making it. Didn't make the airborne ebola, but figured out how, and how long of an incubation period is needed to infect enough of the human population to end civilization

I turn under Amy's arm, start stroking her face, light, pressure less fingers over her cheek.

-She's deeply asleep. Will wake on her own in a half hour. Will be happiest if she wakes on her own

Can I kiss her anyway?

-A gentle kiss will improve her dreams

I kiss her, the softest touch of lip to lip I can manage, and her lips curve up against mine.

I watch her sleep for a bit, then slip out, use the bathroom.

She doesn't wake when I slip back under her arm.

I'm almost asleep again when Amy's fingers tilt my chin up, and soft, eager, mint-scented lips press against mine.

"Good morning, pretty girl," I greet her happily, the smile stretching down from my eyes to my lips.

"Good morning, Lisa," she smiles back, wiggles a little.

-Needs to pee. Wants to stay and have sex — no, make love to me, again

-Thinks she's fertile, wants to try again, doesn't want to ask

-Worried that she freaked Taylor out

-Wants us to stay. Is sure we'll leave as soon as she isn't useful

"Go quickly, and come back," I kiss her again.

She nods, smiling, stands next to the bed a minute, posing, before walking to the bathroom with a pronounced sway to her hips. My belly clenches at the sight. I watch the bathroom door, trying to figure out the best way to ask.

Amy sashays back to me, throwing the sheet back, and straddles my waist, sitting on my hips, "Where's Taylor?"

"She went out earlier. Wanted to make a felony vandalism romantic gesture."

Amy tilts her head, "Romantic felony vandalism."

"Yup. She left me here to entertain you."

She rocks her hips, "Entertain?"

"However you want, I'd love to."

"Unprotected sex?"

"I'm game if you are. I'm a little bit pregnant, so it's not a risk, is it?"

"No, not for you or the baby. Are you sure?"

"If you want to, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

Amy reaches behind herself, stroking me with a couple fingers, then her whole hand wrapped around, pulling and stretching. She lets go, rises up on her knees, shuffles back a bit, and grabs with her other hand.

-PatB-

A/N: The song Taylor's thinking of is Lisa Loeb's "We Belong Together"

And a glimpse of some of the things they're not sharing yet. Any guesses?


	27. Chapter 27

-PatB-

I take the steps two at a time, pleased with how it turned out, and wanting to show it off.

My girlfriend is laying on my best friend, the covers shoved down, naked, covered in half-dry sweat, her hair mussed. Lisa's asleep, but Amy looks up at me, a sated smile on her face, "Want a go? She's not as good with it as you are, but it was nice," she gestures towards Lisa's crotch.

"Put that away," I tell her, smiling. I shed costume parts as I walk over, peeling off my shirt, collapsed armor, bra by the time I get to the bed, "No unprotected sex for me until after we save the world," I lift her chin and lean over, my other elbow on the bed, and kiss her, slow, gentle, trying to share the joy she brings me with her, "And I want you to be the father then."

She moans, rolls me onto my back, and assaults the buttons on my fly.

Lisa wakes up after a while, so it takes a while to get into the shower, there's not enough time for a bath if we want breakfast before lunch time.

-PatB-

"Hey, Pinky," I ask over breakfast, "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, "Well, gee, Brain, I don't know. How do you get coconuts in Africa, much less medieval England?"

Lisa gives her a glare of embarrassed frustration, then hides her face with a hand and giggles.

"Swallows," I manage dryly, before my lips curl upwards, the outer corners of my eyes tightening in that still-unfamiliar mood-lifting way.

Amy laughs, reaching over the table.

I take her hand, and Lisa leans over against Amy's shoulder a moment.

Amy forces another plate of bacon and eggs with seaweed on Lisa, having downed three herself.

"So," she asks me, watching to make sure Lisa eats, "Romantic felony vandalism?"

"And breaking and entering," I answer, "I left money for the paint, but they weren't open at the time."

"That might be a bit much. You could have waited until they were open."

"But then I would have to wait until tonight to do it, and I've got Mayor stuff to start taking care of soon," I poke her side gently, "Because someone decided I didn't have enough things to do."

"Because you want to make things better. You don't always manage it, but you want to."

My eyes sting a little, and I wrap my arms around her, pressing my face to her neck.

She pets my hair for a bit.

"I'm stuffed, and I'm not eating anything more until dinner," Lisa says.

"Unless you get hungry," Amy tells her firmly.

"Unless I get hungry," Lisa agrees.

We walk out onto the beach, and follow it down for a while, before cutting under the boardwalk towards downtown.

"Don't look up," I tell Amy, as my graffiti starts to come into view.

"Oh?" she asks.

"Yeah, I chose the side that faces our territory, but I want you to be able to see it all at once."

A few blocks later, "Close your eyes," I tell her, and stop in the middle of the street with her. Lisa's glancing around, but there's no traffic.

I look over her head, "Open your eyes."

"You didn't," she tells me. I can see her cheek curving from her smile.

"The whole town said the fool should have used red," Lisa sings, not well, but not really badly.

"But it looked good to Charlene," Amy continues, a little husky.

"Cheesiest of the cheesy," I deflect, looking up at the green heart shape surrounding "Taylor loves Amy."

'Ahodori," Amy spins, skirt flaring, and wraps her arms around me.

Lisa chivies us out of the street. Amy grabs my hand, and starts walking towards my lair again, "How'd you do it? I don't think you spray painted while riding Atlas."

"No," I agree, "Drew it out in fire midges, etched the stone, carried a drop of paint per bug up and filled the etching."

"Wow."

"I'm really glad you like it. I hoped you would, but I was worried."

She squeezes my hand, leans up and kisses my cheek.

-PatB-

Being already out and about, we walk to the hospital, where we find that my dad was released that morning, and we should have called.

Amy leads us out the front door, and in a propped-open emergency exit. Her pink Guyver costume flickers out of her necklace, and I shift my armor into the blue Guyver costume. She looks at Lisa, "Purple or green?"

"Lavender, of course."

"This is barely bulletproof, but it should be light enough for you to walk around in for an hour or so,"

"Why," Lisa stops herself, "Right."

We follow Amy- Pinky upstairs, and she wanders through the ICU, then through a ward labeled "Hospice," then out through the emergency room. She repairs maybe half a dozen, and touches a dozen more, including several of the nurses and a couple doctors.

And we're gone. About six blocks later we find an abandoned building, and drop out of costume.

"What kind of power do you need to make this into power armor?" Lisa pats her tummy, where her shrunken armor wraps around her under her shirt.

"The kind that isn't in Brockton Bay."

Lisa looks around, then steps up, wrapping her arms around Amy's neck before sagging mostly to her knees.

Amy staggers, braces herself, wraps her arms around Lisa, "What is this about?"

"If they figure out you can steal powers?"

"Yeah," Amy says, "Shnick," she draws her hand across her neck, "Unless I'm doing it to our collection of kill-ordered bastards."

"Even then, it's a risk."

"Which is why I'm not going to admit to keeping them. Would you guess the Zwauth had Noelle's power?"

"Not easily, no."

"I hope it's not easy for anyone else, either," Amy squeezes Lisa against her tummy, "Onward to Taylor's house."

Lisa nods, gets to her feet. She takes the middle, holding on to both our hands, walking along with a pronounced sway to her hips, swinging our joined hands.

I bomp her towards Amy with my hip. Amy bomps her back towards me, and Lisa laughs.

-PatB-

A/N: Taylor was checking to see if she'd make herself jealous.

2017 December 19: 49,045 words


	28. Chapter 28

-PatB-

I leave Amy and Lisa watching the kettle, and wave my dad over. I close the door, and walk across the living room.

I slump against a wall, and look, we're the same height now, slightly up at him, "You did a pretty good job, being my dad," I tell him.

He looks nervous, but doesn't say anything.

"Any hints?"

"You're pregnant?" he asks, even more worried.

I laugh, "No, Lisa is, and Amy's trying really hard."

"Your girlfriend's . . . " he makes a funny gesture with his hands.

"No. That'd be a lot easier to be upset about, easier to tell Amy no. Biotinker. We know Lisa's pregnant with my," I shake my head, blushing, "You're gonna be a grandfather in about nine months. Probably twice," I strangle the whimper that tries to escape.

"Trying? So she didn't just whip up an embryo?"

"No, we," I put my hand on my shoulder and hide my face in my elbow, "Were making love, and then she's saying it's a bad idea and playing with my penis. Which I normally don't have, you might remember."

"You didn't used to, anyway," he agrees, a little uncomfortable. Not too surprising, I haven't needed a diaper changed in at least thirteen years.

"Yeah, so, embarrassing hows out of the way, any advice for your daughter who has a girlfriend who's probably pregnant and a best friend who definitely is?"

"They know?"

I nod, "We're working it out, Amy and I want to keep Lisa, but we're all a little worried about Lisa's mouth," I pause, "Her sometimes broken brain-to-mouth filter, actually. She can drive people into apoplectic rages without really meaning to, and since Amy and I are really," I pause, feeling for the right word.

"Very dangerous?" Dad offers.

"Not the word I want," I tell him, "Effective, maybe? If we lose it we can cause a lot of damage, anyway. But domestic disputes? Between the three of us? If we let it hit the levels that have crazy women making the news for," I shake my head, "Keying cars, slashing tires or stabbing people wouldn't be the problem."

Dad nods, "Use your words, and listen. Try not to go to sleep angry, and always show each other that you love them-"

"Oh, hey," I pull out my phone, and show him my graffiti, "It made Amy smile, anyway."

"How many Taylors are left in Brockton Bay?" he asks, a little smile on his face. He hands me back my phone.

"At least six. Two girls and four boys."

He shakes his head, "That probably wasn't very smart."

"Probably not," I agree.

"Babies," he changes the subject, "Are lots of work. The more help you can get, the better. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, will generally help as much as they can. Most of them have other obligations, which leaves you stuck with the baby and all of your responsibilities and not enough time to take care of it. As Mayor you'll make enough to afford to hire help, and I'd recommend you do so," he scratches at his chin a moment, "And your fellow parahumans. The more of them have positive relations with your kids, the less you," he stops, "The more help you'll have if you need it."

I nod. Amy and Lisa are watching from the doorway to the kitchen, sipping their tea.

"Oh, on Mayor stuff, can you, or someone you find, look after the Union and other working-class interests? I'm going to ask Mayor Christner for recommendations on the business end, Lisa's got the cri- alternative business end of things covered, and I've got to smooth things over with the PRT and Protectorate."

"I might be able to help with that," Amy says, "I know a lot of capes, and I've done a lot of healing for the PRT."

"No obligation," I tell her, "You did an amazing amount just with the campaign."

-PatB-

i look at the flier, "Do you want to go to school?

Amy looks up at me from her book, eyebrow arched dubiously, "Go to school, with people I don't like, who aren't any fun to talk to, almost all of whom," she goes quiet, "No. GED, start college., maybe."

"Lisa?"

"Not just no, but hell no," Lisa scowls, "It was bad enough before I triggered," she pauses, stares at the wall a moment, looks at Amy and I.

She plops down on my couch, stares at her hands, takes a deep breath, and stares at her hands again.

"I had a brother," she says, then goes silent again.

Amy puts a piece of paper in her book, closes it, and sits on the couch next to Lisa, leaning into her. I take the hint, and sit on Lisa's other side.

"Everyone called Reggie Rex, after he started sports, he was good at it, popular, and then he started acting a little odd, angrier, more secretive, just different. And then he killed himself."

I wrap myself around her arm, and Amy gives her a hug,

"My parents discovered that I'd noticed something, started blaming me for not doing something, not saving him," she shakes her head, "I worked myself up enough over it that I triggered. Still don't know why he did it."

Lisa goes quiet for a long time, "I didn't know enough about powers, didn't hide them well enough. My dad figured it out, started using my powers, while still blaming me for my brother. So I left."

This time I hug her properly.

She pats my back, "I learned a lot, but I did OK, until Coil. Then I met you two, and now I'm set for life."

"Oh?" Amy asks, something in her voice. I look at her, but her face is blank, smoothed out.

Lisa apparently knows what she means, because she grabs Amy's hands, looks her in the eyes, and speaks earnestly, "I have over 40 million dollars under my control. I am in a relationship with the Mayor-elect and the most powerful cape in town," she pauses an instant, "That's you."

This blank look of Amy's is disbelief.

"You turned Noelle's power into a giant robot. You stole Coil's power, and left him a non-functional decoy. You made Taylor bushes that grow cowbells and RPGs."

"Cowbells?"

"What does everything need?"

Amy gives her a faint smile, says in a dry voice, "More cowbell."

"Cowbells fix everything. Even my parents." Lisa's smile is a little forced, but she continues, "I'm puking every fucking morning, even though you can't find anything wrong and morning sickness shouldn't kick in until six weeks. I never want to be pregnant again. Ever. But you're going to keep me and the baby healthy, and then you're going to fix it so I never have to do this again."

"If you're still sure after the little one is born," Amy agrees.

"I'm sure already."

"So, money, friends, and a baby on the way? You don't need anything else from life?"

"There's things I want, but nothing I need. I'd like to be less squishy, so I won't worry as much about making you sad if I get hurt. I'd like a giant robot, because that would be awesome. It'd be neat to see the future, 'cause then maybe we'd have more warning about the end of the world," her voice turns husky and salacious, "I want to ha- make love with my pretty best friend and her lovely girlfriend."

Amy's eyes light up, pupils slowly dilating, and she leans in to kiss Lisa.

-PatB-

A/N: Awkward parent/child interactions?

2017 December 20: 50,469 words


	29. Chapter 29

_Italics are quotes from Worm_

-PatB-

Chrysalis 20-1

I slump on my couch, hip and shoulder against Amy, pondering the morning's hassle, the three kids I escorted to the police.

"Brought you a present," Lisa says, climbing the stairs. Lisa has a little wood grained sign in a gold-anodized aluminum frame, the kind of thing you'd see on a teacher's desk in a movie about the 70s or 80s. This one says, "If violence isn't solving your problem, you're non using enough of it."

"For your desk as Mayor," she tells me, smiling, at my inquisitive look.

"Isn't that a little blatant?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. You tend to use less violence, actually."

"No, I just aim it better."

Lisa gives me a hug, then a kiss.

Amy looks up from her bullet ant, which looks rather like a hornet now, and moves closer, "I need a kiss too," she says.

My phone buzzes. I put an eyeball bug on it, poke it, then realize that the bug I'm using isn't going to work after all. Other bugs truss it in silk again, and bring it to me.

 _Charlotte:_

 _I met someone in class. I think it could be big Eric?_

I frown, contemplating my reply, when her next message comes in.

 _Charlotte:_

 _says hes an old classmate of urs. asking where u are. loud insistent intense. wouldnt believe that u werent at school. sounds like he might want to talk to you._

I sigh, give Amy her kiss, "Some idiot boy may have figured out who I am and is making noise about it at school."

She hugs me tighter a moment, then dozens of her improved bullet ants start taking flight, "Let's go."

Lisa looks at her a moment, then nods. My armor flows. Amy gets to her feet, her pink Kamen Rider suit on, and grows Lisa a matching set while I get my bugs settled on the tattered flaps of silk covering my armor.

"A little more purple," Lisa is saying.

 _RT:_

 _You see him?_

 _Charlotte:_

 _no. no bars here. had to leave to make call._

 _The school's caged, no signal inside._

 _RT:_

 _What was he doing?_

 _Charlotte:_

 _asking about u in halways, checking with ppl to see if u were around._

 _Charlotte:_

 _i approached him and asked how he knew u. he said he didnt. seemed too intense for that so i called u._

 _RT:_

 _GJ._

 _RT:_

 _This is Eric with blond hair? Blue eyes? Talks like he's going to run out of breath and pass out?_

 _Charlotte:_

 _Yes._

I sigh, Greg Veder, idiot. Creep. Charlotte texts me for instructions, doesn't see Greg, so I have her go about her day.

Lisa calls about a van.

We ride to near the school, the bugs coating the inside of the van.

Tattletale gives the driver orders, and we walk another couple blocks, stop around a corner, out of sight. I furl my armor, the bugs scattering through the alleyway, a few cowbells, fireflies, some of Amy's new bullet ants, tucked safely inside of it in little pockets.

The eyeballs fly ahead. Lisa and Amy give me a hug, then I follow my bugs into the shiny white heart of darkness.

The school, you know how it was refurbished. Forty kids out front, a few guards. Thirty-five have the shell-shocked, hardened look of those who stayed, and the other five just don't. Greg's in the small gym, so I bypass the guards, and the office, and walk straight where I need to go. No one pays any attention.

I poke him, point out of the room with my chin. He gets up, and I follow him into the hallway.

"Are you stalking me?" I ask him.

He blinks, gormless, "No?" he more asks than says.

"Upset? Vengeful?"

He shakes his head, "No, nothing like that, I want to help you!"

"One of my coworkers, another of Skitter's people, said you were asking about me. Intensely, stupidly."

"Yes, I know, I want to help," the way he says it, there's something a little slimy.

"That isn't the way you help," I tell him, "I have a job, I have a girlfriend, I don't need you helping me now, I've got plenty of help now. If you feel guilty, pay it forward, help some other kid who's getting picked on. I'm over it, OK?"

He nods, a little sadly, "You're right, I should have stepped up months ago."

"Step up, or just speak up. Tell some bitch that her shit stinks. If someone had done that," I shrug, "Do what you can, when you can, you can't do any more than that, but you shouldn't do much less."

He nods.

"Talk to the ones who stayed," I tell him, and give him a little push back towards his class.

"I will," he says.

I watch him walk off, unsure, then head for the front doors.

Emma notices me, starts my way as I head towards the gate. I could make it if I ran, but I don't. I wonder what she wants.

She steps into my path, her friends stepping up on either side.

She's speaking, but Lisa and Amy are walking over, out of armor, and that is much more interesting. Worrying.

I turn my gaze on Emma, "Make like a tree, and leave."

She sputters, " _So hostile. Is that part of your new image? Being rude? Keeping everyone at arm's length?"_

"Not everyone. Just arrogant little bitches who dumped me for a pretty face that probably wouldn't even put out," I don't smile as my lovers, the word clenches my chest a bit, cross the street.

" _Zoning out on me Hebert? Or did you spend to long outdoors and bake your brain?_ "

"Oh," Lisa says from behind them, as Amy walks up to me, "Is this the ex? She is pretty, but not so smart."

"Very pretty," Amy says, kissing my cheek before taking my arm, "But very dumb."

"What?" Emma asks.

I snort, shake my head.

"You'll figure it out, but probably not until after everyone's masturbating to pictures of you with your clothes off," Lisa says.

"Not that you don't have plenty of them masturbating to your underwear pictures already," Amy tells her, "But you won't have to worry about your age for long." She starts me around Emma, and Lisa stares down Emma's blonde friend. Amy wiggles her fingers at Emma once we're past, "Bai bai."

Lisa takes my other arm, swings around back to Emma a moment, "Bye, bitch."

-PatB-

A/N: Taylor's got bigger things to worry about than Emma. Or smaller ones, actually.


	30. Chapter 30

-PatB-

Accord. He was probably crazy before he had powers.

The Teeth have some good powers, and the Fallen, not so much. "Can you deal with Butcher, Pinky? Or will that count as her dying?" I ask her as she appears, clattering down the stairs after Accord and his Ambassadors left the building.

"Her Gemma and Corona will still be alive, so," she shrugs.

"Can you put her in a coma?" I ask, "There is the baby to think of." The tinkertech baby scanner Tattletale found says that the little one has implanted, and is growing properly, so far as a blood test can show.

"I can put her in the bottom of the bay with Cherish."

"You two are being very aggressive," Parian says, "What baby?"

"Ran into one of my a-" I cut myself off, "Went to the school, out of costume, ran into my former friend, the underwear model. Mostly over that, but."

"I'm having morning sickness about five weeks early."

Imp is the first to recover, "Congratulations! Who's the daddy?"

"Skitter."

"So we're feeling protective of our baby-mama," Pinky says.

Parian cocks her head at us, "I can understand that."

"The Teeth are bothering you," Pinky says, "I need more giant robot combat experience. May I help?"

I can hear the smile in Parian's voice, "If you'd like."

"We'll be by in the morning after Tattletale gets done puking."

"Hey, I resemble that."

-PatB-

Amy sighs, her hand on Lisa's back.

"Thank you," Lisa says, pushing back from the toilet. She takes the washcloth I hand her and wipes her face.

"Bad news," Amy gives her hand a squeeze, brushes blonde hair back behind her ear, "There's nothing wrong with you."

"I'm not even two weeks pregnant, and puking my guts out," Lisa protests.

"Your ancestors must have lived in some really nasty places," Amy says, "Because this is probably to prevent infestation while you are pregnant. And you're almost four weeks."

"I was a virgin three weeks ago."

"Yeah, modern medicine counts pregnancy from the start of one's last period."

"That's dumb," Lisa sighs, "Is there anything to be done about it?"

"The nausea? Maybe. Fixing it every morning is getting harder, my power hates maintenance," she kisses Lisa on the forehead, "Worst case, Zofran every day, but I should be able to figure out a way to automate it. Hopefully it'll go away on it's own in a couple months."

"Hopefully?"

"Morning sickness lasts until the baby's born for some people."

"Never doing this again. Never ever."

-PatB-

A/N: Amy will figure it out. Eventually.


	31. Chapter 31

-PatB-

The Teeth are in a low, squat building, surrounded by parking lot. Someone's cooking lunch, and there's thirty-seven people inside. Butcher has her mask off, someone's half out of costume in the bathroom, stripping down.

Parian stands beside me, five blocks away on a diagonal, out of sight of the Teeth.

Tattletale is in her purple Kamen Rider armor, sitting on the Zwauth's shoulder, and they're talking quietly.

"Can Butcher take over an unpowered person?" Pinky asks suddenly, "Because calling in an airstrike on the building would be so much easier than fighting or gassing them."

"I don't know. Seems like an unethical experiment to try."

"True," Pinky sighs, "These wasps are full of diazepam," four hundred and sixteen wasps drift out of the Zwauth, "These ones are full of ketamine," two hundred and forty, "and these ones are full of thiopental," another hundred and ninety-six. "Just sting them all. One wasp sting should be good for a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds, there shouldn't be any major interactions between the drugs, and mixing them might make them work better or faster. If anyone ODs let me know, and I can stabilize them."

"Can you make me some epipens? Just in case?"

"Yeah, probably should have done that earlier," she sighs, and a moment later clouds of wasps start flying off, "Keep as many as you need, and send the rest of these off to plant themselves."

I keep a hundred and twenty, and send the rest out.

"Ready to go?"

Parian nods, and we start down the street, her stuffed animals leading the way, a gorilla and an octopus this time, the Zwauth following behind.

The Teeth head towards the kitchen, lunch obviously ready. I wait for them to arrive before I knock on their kitchen window with a cowbell, then put another in the cookpot, splashing the contents about the room, stunning several. The special wasps flow in the broken window, stinging.

Parian's octopus reaches in the bathroom window, grabbing the man in there, and pulling him out, the wall breaking as she pulls the window frame loose. Half-naked duplicates fall towards the ground as she gives Spree a light shake.

The gorilla rips off the front of the building.

Spree is shifting, changing, distorting as he forms duplicates, and I can't get a second sting on him. He's screaming, the ketamine perhaps, or being shaken by a giant octopus and watching his duplicates mostly incapacitated by the fifteen foot fall. Parian gives him a harder shake, and he stops making duplicates for an instant, and I sting him again. He relaxes in the octopus's tentacle after the second sting.

Butcher ignores the first few stings, not feeling pain since Butcher II, then droops slowly, her massive gun falling to the ground.

Parian's gorilla picks her up, waves her overhead, mouth open in a silent roar.

One of the Teeth in the kitchen stops breathing, I wait a few seconds, doesn't start again, "One of the ones in the kitchen isn't breathing," I tell Tattletale and Pinky, "All of them are down."

Tattletale hops down, heads inside, and pulls the dying woman to the door.

The Zwauth touches her with the tip of it's tail, and she starts breathing again.

Tattletale calls for the trucks.

-PatB-

"Mayor-elect," Director Piggot greets us, looking much better, more energetic and a little thinner, since Pinky healed her, despite having been stabbed, "Is this an invasion, or are you here for something else?"

The co-driver hops out of the first box van, rolls the back door up.

"I thought I'd help a fellow citizen deal with a problem in her neighborhood," I wave at the Zwauth, "You know Tattletale," she wave's from the Zwauth's shoulder, "My girlfriend Pinky," the Zwauth raises it's right hand, palm forward, index and middle fingers raised and spread, V for victory.

"And Parian, who is living by the Trainyard," I gesture towards the short woman.

She gives a tiny wave.

"She was having a little trouble with the Teeth, so we offered to help, a neighborly gesture, you might say."

Piggot frowns slightly, then sighs, "And what do you want for this?"

"We never want to see these people again."

Parian's gorilla sets Butcher down at Piggot's feet, "The Butcher," Parian says, "I caught her, Pinky did something to make sure she never wakes up."

"She'll need a feeding tube, unless we put her in the bottom of the bay with Cherish," Pinky says, then pauses, "Or maybe I could turn her into a tree? Hmm."

"Or a giant, immortal mushroom-plant, like the one in Ohio, wasn't it?" I ask.

Pinky makes a contemplative noise, and rubs the Zwauth's chin.

"Anyway, Teeth. Sedated and alive," I tell Piggot, "As with Coil, Pinky cut them loose from their powers, but there's no way to tell how long that will last."

Piggot nods, turns to the armored PRT trooper at her side, and gestures toward the vans.

He takes the hint, and orders more help.

-PatB-

A/N: On the one hand, the Protectorate isn't falling apart. On the other hand, letting any organization know how much you can do is not a good idea. On the gripping hand, the Undersiders are known to exaggerate for intimidation purposes.

And just the tranquilizer wasps no-sell most parahumans, no need for giant robots.


	32. Chapter 32

-PatB-

Mary, one of Tattletale's people, is editing the video from the fight with the Teeth, "This isn't very cinematographic," she's complaining.

"A cinematographic fight is a dangerous fight. Emphasize Parian's contribution, and how easy it was."

"It's really hard not to have it look like a curb-stomp," Mary sighs, selecting another chunk of video.

Tattletale nods, an armored hand on Mary's shoulder, "We need a balance between badass enough not to bother and so scary that everyone bands together against us."

"I'll do my best," Mary says.

-PatB-

"I'm gonna die," Tattletale whines, lagging after a couple miles.

"You'll be fine in a few days," Pinky tells her, with the surety of almost three weeks experience.

"You really think this'll help with the nausea?"

"Can't hurt, light exercise is good for the immune system, so it should help your body calm down about the baby."

"Can't you just tell it to calm down?"

"That's what I've been doing every morning. Has it helped?"

"Probably. I'm not puking all day," she sighs, "You have anything to add, Skitter?"

"Nope. I'll have to rely on your experience in a few years, after we save the world."

"So you think we can do it?"

"I refuse to believe my author is mean enough not to let us see our daughters grow up."

Tattletale slows to a walk, staring at me, comes to a complete stop and puts her hands on my shoulders, "That was damning with faint praise, not an endorsement."

"Look at the last few weeks — if we work for it, we'll do it. We'll face hard challenges, run into unexpected problems, but I refuse to believe in a world that would let me be this happy, then turn on me. We won't be pushed beyond our capabilities. If it seems like we will, that means we have more we can do than we're seeing."

Lisa's bright green eyes search my masked face.

I brush her cheek with a gloved hand, and Pinky gives her a hug.

After a bit she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around me for a minute before freeing herself to run again.

-PatB-

"Your video of Parian taking down the Teeth is nice," Imp says from right behind me.

I jump, "How did it go with the Fallen?"

"Regent and I no-sold Valefor, and I knifed him in the eyes. Someone can heal him if they need him," she shrugs, "Eligos was more trouble. We batted Haven about for a bit, then gave them the Fallen."

"Sounds good," I give her a hug.

"What's that for?"

"I can't hug my favorite sister?"

"I'm not-" she pauses, "Eh, if you want too."

"Good, because I have a great excess of hugs to share now."

"Don't you have Amy and Lisa for that?"

"That's why I have so many hugs!" I gush, giving her another squeeze, "Everything is awesome, so I gotta share it before the author changes her mind."

"Her?"

"Only a -" I cut myself off, "Not gonna give her ideas," I shake my head, "Or risk pissing her off."

"You're weird."

"World's mostestest's awesomest girlfriend, my best friend, Mayor, elect, cowbells and a giant robot?"

"Cowbells?"

I land one on my fingertips, "High explosive. Lisa named them."

She grins, "Because cowbell makes everything better."

A moment later she looks suspicious, "How many of those do you have?"

"Plenty. They grow on bushes."

Her eyes widen with her grin, "You do have the best girlfriend."

-PatB-

A/N: Lisa doesn't much believe in religion, even ones that match reality.


	33. Chapter 33

-PatB-

The wretched sound of retching wakes me. Amy's on her back, and I'm half-draped over her smaller form, curly red hair tickling my nose.

"Ugh," she mumbles, shoving me off a bit as she rolls out of bed. I watch her hips sway as she pads naked to the bathroom in front of me.

I snatch a long-toothed hair clip off the sink, gather Lisa's hair back, and pet her head while Amy rubs her neck.

Lisa stops heaving after a moment, but I keep petting her hair.

-PatB-

"Here," Amy pulls one of the many green and gold beetles, somewhere between a figeater and a cowbell, same sort of shape, about two inches long and an inch and a half wide, off her shirt and hands it to me.

I admire it a moment, it is very shiny, then put it on my shirt, "What is it?"

"A comm beetle," she tells me, "It needs to bite you."

"Why?"

"So it'll bond to you," she pulls it gently from my shirt as she shoves my sleeve up. She sets it on the soft pale skin of my forearm, gives it three taps.

It gives a perfect Star Trek commbadge chirp each time, then bites me. I watch it lap up the welling blood for a moment.

"What's it eat?"

"Blood. Less than an ounce a week, just let it feed while you sleep."

"What does it do, other than chirp?"

"Wifi mesh networking and voice communications."

I blink, look up at her, look down at my comm beetle, and the already-sealed wound on my arm, "Why wifi?"

"Because I could figure out the standard in a reasonable amount of time," she shakes her head, "Cellular comms are weird."

"Why a comm beetle?"

"Screw the phone company. Screw the phone upgrade cycle. This way they'll have to be better than free."

"Oh," I look at my beetle, look back at myself through it's eyes, "You're fucking evil."

Amy laughs, a happy chime, "Aren't I?"

"How long do they live?"

"As long as their human does. Once bonded they'll only feed from their human."

"How do they work?"

"You tell your comm beetle your name, it negotiates for an eight hex digit number, and then you share that around like a phone number."

She puts my beetle back on my shirt and gives it a poke.

It chirps, then asks it Majel Barrett's voice, "What is your name?"

"Taylor Hebert."

"What is your quest?"

"To take over the world," Amy answers for me.

"What is your favorite color?"

"Yellow," I answer before Amy can preempt me.

"What is the airspeed of an unladen swallow?"

"African or European?" I ask, after momentarily contemplating '88 miles per hour' instead.

"Setup complete. Your Comm Beetle Number is foxtrot zero zero foxtrot foxtrot zero zero foxtrot."

Amy taps a beetle stuck to her shirt where a commbadge should go. It chirps. "Taylor, Taylor Hebert's beetle number is foxtrot zero zero foxtrot foxtrot zero zero foxtrot. Taylor is known as Skitter when connected to Pinky's armor."

Majel reads back what Amy said, "Is this correct?"

"That is correct," Amy says, and the beetle makes an affirmative chirp. She taps it again, another chirp, "Call Taylor."

My beetle rings like a telephone. I let it ring a moment, wondering how she got such a brassy sound, then tap it, speakers, "Hello?"

"Hey, Taylor, what do you think?"

"I think you are the greatest supervilliain in the history of the world."

"You say the sweetest things," and she wraps me in a bone crushing hug. Comm beetles press into our flesh, compressing a little, but not crushing.

"How tough are these comm beetles?"

"Hit 'em with a sledgehammer or run 'em over with a car, fine, much more than that, smoosh."

-PatB-

A/N: Wrote this scene, then started TanaNari's Amelia. Many of the later scenes were writen earlier.

-PatB-

Naomi Berrie Diabetes Center, Manhattan, NY.

"Well, it looks like you did the right thing, stopping your daily medications," Dr. Holiwell says, "Your blood sugar is in a normal range. Several people came in severely hypoglycemic over the weekend, and we had to take them off their meds, too.

"What's going on? I've been drinking soda all weekend to try and get my blood sugar back up to normal."

"75 is normal. Low normal, but still fine. Your urine was 25% sugar. A little higher than most of the cases over the weekend."

"That's not good."

"Since there aren't any markers of kidney failure, and your blood sugar's staying under control? I'd call it a miracle. Get off, and stay off, the soda so long as your blood sugar stays normal."

"What happened? Did some cape decide they were sick of healing diabetes patients?"

"We don't know yet, but that seems as likely as anything else," Dr. Holiwell sighs, "I'd like you to come back in in a week for a follow up. Hopefully we'll know more by then. Keep monitoring your blood sugar, and call us if anything changes."

"How low is safe?"

"Anything over 50, so long as you feel fine. If it's below 50, even if you feel fine, I'd like you to come in."

"Thank you, Doctor."

-PatB-

A/N: Actual "Normal" seems to be under 83 mg/dL, with post-prandal spikes to 100.


	34. Chapter 34

-PatB-

"OK, this is gross," Amy whines a little, glaring into the toilet bowl, "A lot gross."

I rub her back a little more.

Lisa gives her a hug, "I've been saying that for weeks."

Over breakfast I shift topics, "Should we move, or should we expand?"

Amy makes an inquisitive noise around her bacon.

"This is a bachelor supervillain's lair, and we'll probably need more space for the little ones."

"Yeah, it is rather small, isn't it. Our old warehouse was much bigger, but we had three of us living there," Lisa points at me with her fork, "Do you want to make the babies move out?"

"They aren't even born yet, but the American thing seems to be prepping them a room long before they need one."

Amy nods, "Partly nesting instinct, mostly commercialism and the medicalization of childbirth and rearing that happened turn of the last century."

Lisa and I are treated to another rant on the problems of modern medicine, and how most of them are the fault of modern medicine. It's interesting, and I learn a lot, but still a rant.

-PatB-

Pinky and Tattletale mostly get to sit around, look pretty, and snark. They said they would be working on their own projects, but they're watching me work with the transition team and meet with various members of the community every time I look at them.

I get to to convince, try to convince, random idiots that being idiotic and obstructionist won't accomplish their goals. I haven't even been sworn in yet, and already Mayor is far more work than supervillain. Even worse. I shake my head, try to figure out what this very earnest woman is trying to say, and attempt to paraphrase, "You believe girls are being led into prostitution, and want to step up enforcement of the existing anti-prostitution statutes to help them?"

She nods.

"Have you ever talked to any of the working girls?"

"Yes, but we can't even get the cops to back off on them so they can get help, much less get them support or repeals of the current statutes."

"Why not? This town voted a supervillain in for Mayor. Obviously the status quo isn't good enough anymore. What do you really think could help make things better?"

She replies, less earnest and more animated. It will be a fight to see if her ideas will actually help, but at least they aren't the same crap that hasn't worked for hundreds of years.

-PatB-

Amy has us walking along the beach, barefoot, and she's splashing in the cold Atlantic seawater. It's midsummer, and the water is still too cold for my taste. She's kicking seaweed around, pushing it back into the water, where it swims away.

She puts the little bottle back into her pocket, looking across the bay at the boat graveyard, "The sunk ones aren't going to raise a fuss, but will anyone complain about the floating ones?"

"Maybe. I'll check, and buy the ones people will fuss about? It'll be pennies on the dollar at this point," Lisa says, wrapping her arms around Amy from behind, her chin on her shoulder.

"Just help me mark the fussy ones? If people'll fuss over them, then they'll probably get them out of the way."

"I can do that."

Amy leans over a bit, pulls me in by a belt loop, and wraps an arm around my waist, the sun setting behind us, the clouds turning colors in front of us while we watch.

"You want to brag about it?" I ask as the sky fades to black, "I can tell you did something awesome."

"Later. Once it works," she goes up on her toes, and kisses my cheek, "But thank you for asking."

-PatB-

A/N: There's a joke: "I love work. I could watch it all day." I don't love work, so you'll only get glimpses.


	35. Chapter 35

-PatB-

Amy slides her hand over my arm and kisses Lisa on the cheek as she makes her way to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Like most nights, it's a good ten minutes before she comes out, a tiny bit flushed, the wrinkles around her eyes a little smoother.

Lisa glances at me, then turns back to Amy, "Three times a day?"

Amy flushes darker, her shoulders slumping a bit.

Lisa shakes her head quickly, "I'm not trying to be mean or anything? Would you like a little help?" Lisa rubs her face with her hands, "May we help?"

I look at Amy, spread my arms, gesture her towards me.

She climbs in my lap, and presses her face to my neck, "It helps with stress," she says.

"That's good," Lisa says. She plops onto the couch next to me, and rubs Amy's back, "I know. Taylor's not going to run away, and it'll do you good to verbalize it."

"Taylor can't run away, I've got her pinned."

"I'm not going to run even if you let me up."

"You know how some people are prone to stressing out, getting depressed, and having suicidal ideations?"

I give her a squeeze, "Yeah?"

"I have omnicidal ideations when I get too upset. I have an implementable plan to end the world for every day of the month, and two for the weekends. That's when I'm not coming up with a new way to go all dark lady Galadriel," her voice is steady, but full of pain.

"Wow," I tell her, brush her hair back, shift us both to kiss her neck, "That would be a hard thing to talk to a professional about."

"Yep. Thoughts of hurting yourself or others? Mandatory report," Amy kisses my neck, "I don't really want to kill everyone, most of the time, but it would be so easy. Loved and feared by all? Almost as easy. Masturbating a lot helps. Having you two? Helps a lot," she kisses my neck again, "Thank you."

"I love you, too," I say before kissing her hair near her ear.

She pulls back, staring into my eyes, the gold of her irises thinning as the limpid black pools of her pupils expand.

-PatB-

I pet Amy's hair while she sleeps, curled into my side, look at Lisa over the top of her head, "So," I start, then go silent again, "We face," pause. Longer pause, "This was bad enough when I only worried about you pissing her off."

"She's really sweet, and quite lazy. It should be fine."

"She made a giant robot in minutes."

"After batting it about for years. We need to keep our domestic disputes under control, use "I" statements, not be accusatory, the normal things to keep from escalating an argument into a fight. Disagreements are fine, we don't need to roll over and play dead or anything, but we don't get to be mean about it."

"I don't want to be mean about it. I don't want to fight with either of you."

"But all three of us are just so good at it," Lisa sighs, "I can start a fight just by not paying attention for a bit. You escalate so well, and Amy," Lisa pets her arm, "Amy can end any fight she gets her hands on, if she wants to."

She wraps both arms around Amy, pressing to her back and nuzzling her neck, "Yes, I love you, even if you are an omnicidal maniac."

Amy's lips curl up just a little bit.

-PatB-

"Liverpool can be a lonely place on Saturday night, and this is only Thursday morning," Lisa says along with Ringo, after singing along to "Elenor Rigby."

My lips curl and my eyes crinkle. Amy's also watching her fondly, more entranced by the girl than the movie.

A few minutes later she's singing along again, gesticulating this time, trying to get us to join in, "One, two, three, four, can I have a little more."

I recognize the song, a bit, and join in, "Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, I love you."

Amy blinks, then pulls both of us into a hug.

-PatB-

I card Lisa's hair back, and clip it. Amy's rinsing her mouth out, having woken us on her way out of bed.

Lisa's shoulders heave, and I pet her back. Amy gets a hand on her, "Hormones are normalizing, blood sugar's fine, it's just your brain messing with you."

"Can you make it stop?" Lisa whines, wiping acidic slime off her chin.

"Yes, but this isn't something I've seen enough to pinpoint properly. Carol's brain? I have her, Vicky, Aunt Sarah, and a few hundred cases of PTSD to compare to. I can't even tell where the nausea is coming from, just where it's manifesting. Fucking with it would be risky."

"Risky how? This sucks."

"And a psychologist who used to live with the first psychologist, but has since undergone a complete personality change," Amy quotes Monty Python.

"Oh," Lisa sighs, shoves herself to her feet, "Yeah, that'd be worse."

"We'll get you a script for Zofran, and I get my hands on a few more women with morning sickness while we're at it, OK?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Lisa rinses, spits, gathers Amy into a hug.

-PatB-

Amy comes back from another round of glad-handing expectant mothers, and I ask her, "Are you letting perfect block out good enough?"

"What do you mean?"

"How does Zofran work?"

"It's a serotonin receptor antagonist, that blocks signals along the vagus nerve . . . " she frowns, "Definitely letting perfect get in the way of good enough."

"What does that mean," Lisa asks, "I get the reference to perfect is the enemy of good, but?"

"I know where your nausea is triggered, and can easily build a nerve mass to check that you're not actually poisoned, then block it. Fifty or sixty nerve cells, doesn't mess with the rest of your brain, and the nausea gets suppressed about as fast as you can notice it."

"And you were trying to figure out a proper fix instead."

"Fix the root cause, not the symptom," Amy blinks several times, the corners of her eyes drooping a bit.

Lisa leans in and kisses her.

And they call Lisa's name to come back, finally. I takes a bit of fussing, but not outing me as the daddy, to let Amy and I accompany her.

A bit later we're standing in the hall, opposite the door marked Labs, waiting for Lisa to get back from providing a urine sample, already having been bled for three vials of blood. Amy only had to pee in a cup.

"You ask the best questions," Amy says, "Thank you."

"Not a problem. Never a problem, really."

She presses me against the hallway wall, and tucks herself under my chin, "I love you, too."

Lisa squishes Amy between us, stretching a little to pull me against them.

-PatB-

A/N: Work around the problem, find a different angle.


	36. Chapter 36

-PatB-

Amy interlude:

Lisa's asleep, curled back against my tummy, sleeping in, not waking up nauseous. Taylor's watching her sleep, a little smile on her face, just relaxed, her face smoother, prettier, not because of the changes I made, but just because she's happy.

"Did you know her birthday is coming up?"

"No. How do you know?"

"Remember how I needed your birth certificate and social security card? For health and death benefits? Lisa let me look at hers while we were taking care of it," she gently brushes Lisa's hair back.

A lovely wave of nausea makes me grimace, but it passes before I have to move, "How does that work? I hope there isn't a little file in the Mayor's office with our real names in it."

"No, cape lawyers," her lip twitches up on one side, "And Coil's paying for all of that, not the city. Maybe she just wanted me to know, but not tell us?"

"Oh? And when is her birthday?"

"August 13. She'll be 18."

"Really? She's such a kid sometimes."

"It's nice that one of us isn't old before her age," she reaches over Lisa to cup my cheek in her hand

"Yeah, but," I shift to brush my cheek against her hand. She takes the hint and pets the side of my head.

"She chose Lisa, her parents named her Sarah."

I plant a kiss on the back of Lisa's head, shifting a bit to reach, "Sarah's pretty, too. Her name doesn't matter much to me so long as she loves me."

Lisa turns in my arms, jostling me enough to flare the nausea, so she gets a very brief peck on the lips before I'm rushing to the bathroom.

Puke on my knees. Yuck.

Lisa stroking my back while she keeps my hair back. Much nicer.

Dry heaving already, fully fasted.

Taylor wipes my face, and I cuddle into Lisa. "In a minute," I refuse the offered glass of water and pull Taylor's free hand close instead..

After a bit I'm feeling better enough to risk it. She hands me the glass at my gesture, rinse, spit, finish off the remainder. I pass the glass back, wait a bit, then stand when it doesn't come back up.

-PatB-

A/N: Her fix for Lisa? Handwork.


	37. Chapter 37

-PatB-

Saturday, 13 August 2011. Lisa's birthday.

Amy's eating seaweed in bed, again, the thin sheets crunching slightly as she tries not to spill crumbs, when I finally blink my eyes back to working. Lisa's dead to the world between us, the drained look she wears to bed faded, smoothed.

"Good morning," she greets me, "Sleep well?"

The smile creeps onto my face unbidden, "How could I not?"

Amy's eyes tighten a bit, not happily.

My mood tries to plummet, and I force the smile back to my eyes, bringing it back up a bit as I explain, "I have the two prettiest girls in the city in my bed, because they love me. Of course I sleep well."

Amy blushes, smiling, and stuffs another piece of seaweed in her mouth.

After breakfast Lisa's in a nice, blue, suit, Amy's looking gorgeous in a nice blouse and skirt, and I'm trying to be objective about the apparition in the mirror.

She's tall, even before the full-custom, foot-shaped, low heels, her hair's nice, thick, black, and curly, white blouse that's almost sleeveless, showing off well-toned arms, hands slender, but not so much that the veins stick up, unlike my dad, skirt several shades darker than my eyes to just over her knees, a tourmaline pendant the color of Amy's eyes just above the neckline of the blouse. I'd probably give her a second look if she walked past.

I shudder.

"You can wear something else, if you want," Lisa tells me, setting gentle fingers on my shoulder.

"You think this," I stop, use I words instead, "I saw the way your eyes lit up when I came out of the changing room in this," I smile at Amy, "You were right, it does look really pretty."

I clench my hands together until my knuckles turn white, I can almost hear them creak, "I'm just uncomfortable in a skirt," I let go and spread my fingers, take a deep breath, let some of my anxiety flow into my swarm.

Amy gives me a kiss, "Thank you."

-PatB-

Lisa's public party, the one her parents were invited to and the Undersiders were not, is in a large room on the second floor of the Medhall building.

Coil's former pawns, Mayor, for another few days, Christner, the hoity-toity rich of Brockton Bay, Director Piggot, a hundred other people I don't know. Ninety seven, but, but that's only the ones with commbeetles. I tag the other fifteen.

Eighteenth birthday party for the most eligible bachelorette in Brockton Bay. Amy is on my arm as we follow Lisa about.

She pauses, straightens a tiny bit, an almost imperceptible shrug as she brings her shoulders back a little further, chin tucking. I look over her shoulder at the two she is confronting, "Good afternoon, Mr. Livsey, Mrs. Livsey," she says, voice a little more cutting than normal, a bit of stress on the titles.

I glare at them, and they shift uncomfortably.

"I know you think you know why you were invited, but I just wanted to introduce you to my friends Taylor and Amy."

They look a little startled, and the man opens his mouth.

Lisa cuts them off, "Of course they're why I bought the building. Enjoy the party. If you're good for a few years, maybe I'll let you send your grandchildren Christmas cards."

We follow her away, "Petty sabotage?" I ask, hopefully.

"No," she pauses, "Why?"

"Because I can tell they hurt you, and you want to prolong their suffering, but I don't want," I pause, "I want to do something, too."

"Like what?"

"Chew holes in the wiring harness of their car, and build mouse nests to mask how it happened?"

Amy snuggles tighter a moment, and Lisa giggles.

"Yeah, that's petty. Feel free," she leans up and plants a kiss on my cheek.

It is all boring, and we follow Lisa around for what feels like forever.

-PatB-

The private party is much more fun, with the Undersiders, Sabah and Lily, ranking employees, my dad, and a nervous Vicky Dallon.

Many fewer commbeetles this time, 73.4% instead of the 90.06% at the public party. Probably a mix of more things to hide and more trust in my ability to keep a secret.

Or maybe attention paid to the terms and conditions.

I turn my attention back to the party.

Amy and I had gone for the hammiest things we could think of, so we played pin the tail on Lung, got Lisa to bob for a coconut, ran around in circles trying not to touch the floor, and pretended the party was planned by a pair of five year olds.

Lisa started off with a dubious expression, but she was smiling and laughing before long. We'd chosen the coconuts to be extra hairy, but only Brian managed to get one out of the barrel without using his hands. Lisa had to catch hers when its hair ripped off.

Sabah's laughing, and Lily's smiling at her.

Alec and Aisha are trouncing all comers at whatever video game they're playing. Rachel is in one of the corners, with a couple of her people, not comfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to leave. Brian's talking to a girl, tall, dark haired, pretty, his coconut in his hand.

"Time for cake!" Amy calls, loudly for her. Everyone gathers around slowly, and she drags me off for the cake.

Eighteen candles don't take long to light, then I wheel the cart out as Amy gives instructions, "We're doing this song call and response, because we didn't practice it. I'll say a line, then we'll sing it, OK?"

An agreeable noise answers.

"Doom and gloom and dark despair," Amy says.

"Doom and gloom and dark despair," we all sing, most of us out of key or off tempo.

"People dying everywhere."

"People dying everywhere," we sing again, most of the others matching Amy and I closer this time.

"Happy Birthday."

"Happy Birthday," it's almost right, everyone singing as deep-voiced as they can, and slow.

"Happy Birthday."

"Happy Birthday!"

"May the cities in your wake," we follow Amy's direction.

"Burn like candles on your cake."

"Happy Birthday."

"Happy Birthday."

We cut it off there, because the candles are getting short and the other lines didn't seem as funny with the end of the world hanging over us.

"Blow out the candles!" Amy gushes.

Lisa's laughing too hard, so it takes her a bit to calm down and catch her breath first. She blows them all out, and starts pulling the candles out, "Here," she holds one out to Amy, "For the decorator," smiling as Amy sucks the frosting off, tiny smile and blush. "And for the baker," she holds one for me. She squeaks when I lick her fingers. I hear, but don't see, the laughter at that.

The cake is promptly cut up and devoured.

-PatB-

Walking back to my lair, Lisa has her arms around us. She looks at me, then at Amy, then starts singing, "I can't even remember, if we were lovers, or if I just wanted to," she sings at Amy, then turns to me, "I held her in my arms, I held her in my arms, but it wasn't you," swaps back, "I'm going on the knowledge, I'm learning things that I should have already learned, everyone I ever knew was so kind and coy. I was with a girl, but it felt like I was with a boy. I can't even remember, if we were lovers, or if I just wanted too. I held her in my arms, I held her in my arms, but it wasn't you."

Amy gives her a kiss, "Only you," she admonishes.

"I know you think I'm adorkable."

"Of course you are," I ruffle her hair, and pull her down a bit to plant a kiss on her temple.

-PatB-

A/N: So, yeah.

Lisa mauled "I held her in my arms" by the Violent Femmes.


	38. Chapter 38

-PatB-

I step up to the podium, facing the crowd, fully armored, 10,456 bugs clinging to the silken scraps covering my costume, a couple dozen cowbells posing, their variegated shells bright and colorful, a commbeetle on my chest.

"Good afternoon. I am looking forward to making a more public difference in Brockton Bay," I say, with full swarm-voice augmentation.

"To that end, I've been working with those who have a vested interest in our future. The status quo didn't work. The rich got richer, the gangs flourished, and everyone else suffered. Our police were overworked, underpaid, and distrusted. Our PRT and Protectorate tried, but couldn't keep a handle on parahuman crime.

"We're cutting our losses. An it harm none, as the saying goes, thy will be done. If your activity doesn't harm anyone else, it's not illegal. If it's illegal on the State or Federal level, we will fund your legal defense all the way to the Supreme Court.

"If you're a tinker, and want to sell house alarms or refrigerators, go ahead. If you want to sell something with catastrophic failure modes, you need to design and test to make sure it fails safely.

"If you want to get married, or sell your body, that's your problem. We will be here to help you anyway.

"If you want to sell dried plants or chemicals, you need to document all ingredients. You need to test, or have tested, your product to make sure it is what you think it is, and only what you think it is — If you sell someone MPPP, and it's contaminated with MPTP, or heroin with unsafe adulterants or contaminates, you will be dealt with.

"If you make your living beating people up and taking their money, you will be dealt with.

"If you make your living through blackmail, intimidation, and extortion, you will be dealt with.

"If you enjoy getting into fights, find other people who want to fight. If you want to provide a venue, charge admission, let people bet? The market can solve that. The police won't help you put your competition under, but they will help protect you.

"If you, for whatever reason, are a special target, we can provide special protection. Just ask.

"I want to see Brockton Bay thrive, and if we work together it will."

-PatB-

"The jail is overflowing," Commissioner Gordon, and didn't that tickle my fannish heart, says, "People keep turning themselves in faster than we can get them through the system."

"Can we process them quicker?"

She shakes her head, grey hair sliding on unwrinkled cheek, "We can't get them trials, even leaving aside the fact that most of them could probably lawyer their way out of their confessions."

"Oh?"

"Confessions driven by threat of summary execution? That's some totalitarian dictator shit."

"Yeah, but they did it. Anyway, for most of them it was just threats of more bullet ant bites."

"Yep, and your terms and conditions state you will not provide data from the commbeetles to any government organization."

I rub my face mask with my hand, bugs scurrying out of the way, "About ten percent of the people in town survive by some variant of screw your buddy. That's about thirty times the jail space we have."

"Bail more of them out? Find them temporary jobs? Pay them to leave?"

"The first two, at least. Let them out by recidivism risk, set their bail where they can make it, and front load the ones who can't make bail at all."

"Your sign's misspelled," she says, poking the "non."

I pick up the sign Lisa made me, smile, and set in down again, "I know. A good friend of mine got it for me that way," I laugh, well, cackle, a bit, "I'm waiting for her to notice."

She smiles, "I'll see about getting more people out of jail."

"I'll keep them out of trouble while they're on bail. Try, anyway."

She shakes her head, smiling, offers her hand over my desk, and takes her leave.

-PatB-

"I need jobs for about twelve thousand," I tell Lisa, flopping down in front of her desk on the top floor of the Medhall building, "And the city takes way too long about it." I lean back, my hair catching a moment before I pull it up to drape over the chair back.

"Twelve thousand, mostly with poor education, poor impulse control, and limited ability to cope with authority?"

"Pretty much."

"There's still a lot of cleanup to be done, buildings to repair or demolish, parks and trees to replant. We can't afford to pay for it, but I can probably strong-arm a lot of donations out of the other one-percenters, and get the feds to match those, plus there's some FEMA money left . . ." she turns to her computer, and clatters away for a bit, "Fifteen thousand jobs for eight weeks?"

"Much better than nothing," I say, "Hopefully it'll put them on the right path."

"Lead poisoning, poor nutrition, lack of attention and intellectual stimulation during critical periods of their lives? Amy'd have a hard time fixing them."

"Not all of them, I'm sure."

"Disproportionate numbers of them."

-PatB-

"Amy," I whine, pressing my face to her tummy, then straighten, clasp my hands to my chest, lean forward earnestly, "Help me, Amy-wan Lavere, you're my only hope." I gush, widening my eyes. I should have thought of this earlier, and worn a hooded robe.

"What can I help you with, Princess?"

"All, well far too many, of these people Lisa's hiring for me? It's like their brains don't work. Like Sophia, kinda, all mixed up and permanently set. They get pissed off too easy, hold grudges that are bad for them, most of them are ignorant, and some of them are just dumb. With constant supervision they can get things done, but a lot of them have real problems functioning."

"A great deal of that is nurture, and it's too late," she pauses, "No, not too late, but it's a lot harder to fix now, and I can't do anything about it."

"Lisa mentioned lead poisoning."

"Yeah, from gasoline and stuff," Amy nods, thinking, "Conventional thought is that it's permanent."

"So you can fix it?"

"One at a time, certainly," she cocks her head, then drags me over to the couch, pushes me down on it, and sits in my lap. I hold her while she cuddles under my chin, thinking over the problem

-PatB-

"Subject Three: Just a lazy asshole. Normal heavy metal content, normal brain, normal IQ."

-PatB-

"Subject Twelve: Needs followup in a couple months. Pulled eight ounces of lead out of him, brain maybe half myelinated, low IQ, reasonably functional, lots of trust issues.

"Probable ambivalent attachment. Half the lead was birdshot, one of his girlfriend's mothers shot him, once with rock salt, then both barrels the second time she caught him. Joined E88 to keep the pretty girls away.

"Dampened the anxiety, increased plasticity, remyelinated."

-PatB-

"As many myelination issues as heavy metal ones. I would have hoped the increased EFA and vitamin levels would have prompted improved myelination by themselves. No such luck."

-PatB-

"Subject Fifty: Followup in a couple weeks. Lead at 45 micrograms per deciliter before removal, brain reasonably myelinated, medium-high IQ, poor social function, trust issues, PTSD.

"Calmed the PTSD, improved myelination."

-PatB-

A/N: and the rest of August


	39. Chapter 39

-PatB-

September.

The endbringer sirens sound, and I look up from my desk, press the intercom, "Where?"

"Just a moment," Mary says. I gather my bugs from around the office while I wait.

"Here," Mary says over the intercom, her voice shaking, "The Simurgh."

Neither of those were expected. I walk quickly, not running, out my office door, "Finish the endbringer calling tree, then get to a safe distance," I tell Mary.

She gives me a thumbs up, already on the phone.

My phone rings before I make it out the door, Amy, "Hello."

"I have Li-Tattletale, we're on our way."

"I'll meet you on the lawn," I tell her, breaking into a run.

I stand on the steps as the Zwauth drops on a plume of green, boron-doped flame, drying the late summer grass and lighting it on fire. She collects me up, waits for me to click the safety strap onto the loop, then leaps, tearing great chunks out of the blackened lawn, the rockets roaring. Lisa's purple armored form is in the other hand, also safety strapped. We set down gently on the beach, a tiny white speck glowing in the afternoon sun, barely visible over the ocean.

Tattletale and I unstrap, and start toward the steadily growing group of defenders in the parking lot at the edge of the sand.

We collect armbands, then head back towards the water with Amy's. I'm tagging everyone in the city, and wanting a better teleporter. People are streaming out of town, the outbound highway already full, police turning incoming traffic around and directing outbound traffic onto the inbound lanes. It's going as well as our most optimistic projections so far, but it'll only take a single wreck to slow things drastically. Even if it stays at full speed, it'll take an hour to get everyone out of town, even though half the population never came back after Leviathan. Too damn long. I make signs to warn the people who'll be closest, the Docks, Shantytown, Trainyard, batter the ones who don't move fast enough with swarms of lightweight fliers.

I can feel the pressure of the Simurgh's song on my sea bugs, slowly getting closer.

Eidolon is gathering the flying capes, and I reach for Tattletale's hand. She twines our fingers together, "She's moving slightly slower than normal. Maybe she's worried? And a tiny bit hopeful, somehow. Her attention is on Eidolon, why, what . . . " She goes silent, the song creeping through the seawater, staring at the group of flying capes.

The song drifts over the docks, and the last few people in the area hurry up, heading inland. A man with a pickup truck stops again, and a couple run in from different directions, climb into the already crowded bed. They continue on at a cautious 20 MPH, much faster than they could run.

"Eidolon validates himself by fighting. It was too easy, so his power . . . " she whispers, trailing off.

"The endbringers are here so Eidolon can fight them?" I ask her.

The Simurgh's song reaches the beach, the Simurgh herself out in the entrance of the bay, where the water is brown from Amy's sponges washing the silt away.

The Zwauth leaps, rockets flaring green, as splashes erupt from the water, three under the Simurgh, and three further out.

Six giant squid-like forms explode out of the water on columns of fire, accelerating into blurs as they robotech picturesquely into the Simurgh from all directions, before detonating simultaneously, a brilliant multi-lobed flash of white heat. All the bugs outside in the Docks die instantly, and many of the ones near the water in Shantytown.

The vapor is speeding towards us as the Zwauth dives into the forming mushroom cloud, a black, whiplike tendril coiled in the Zwauth's hand.

My heart clenches in my chest like Tattletale's fingers clench my hand, and the shockwave washes over the beach, hitting me like a punch in the chest, breaking windows in the Docks and Shantytown, shaking cars. The Simurgh's song is gone.

Eidolon flies towards the mushroom cloud, green fabric flapping behind him, and disappears into it. A moment later the Zwauth flies out of the expanding mass of hot, radioactive gas. My chest is tight and its hard to breath, but the Zwauth lands safely near us, scattering sand, seemingly none the worse for wear. The Zwauth walks up the beach, and sets a green-robed figure down for the medics.

"He got a little burnt. I guess he wasn't expecting the cloud to be that hot," Pinky says, stepping back, "I flushed the radiation and repaired the burns, but he'll need to eat a lot over the next little while."

"The Simurgh?"

"I got my whip around her, but then she vanished."

"Did she run?"

"I have no idea. It was hot, bright, and the visibility was poor. I need to get out of the giant robot and make sure neither I nor the baby," she pauses, takes a deep, slightly sobbing breath, "Make sure this thing is as radiation proof as it is supposed to be. Get me a decon crew."

Lisa's already on the phone, and people are running up with geiger counters.

We get the radioactive dust washed off the outside of the Zwauth, and once the decontamination crew is sure it's as safe as it is going to get, Pinky steps out. To all of our great relief there was no sign of radiation inside the Zwauth, and both modern medicine and healing capes could find nothing wrong with Pinky or the baby.

We're still in the hospital, in a private room, at least, as yet another doctor fusses over Pinky's flat tummy.

"Why did you go out in your condition?" one of the doctors asks.

Pinky stares at the woman through her mask, "I wouldn't have gone if she was attacking somewhere else. I'm fairly sure she was after me."

"What?"

"When have endbringers attacked the same place twice?"

The doctor is silent.

"And she goes after tinkers," she clenches my hand, white-knuckled, "And I'm sure she knew I had the rocket squid."

"What were those?" a man asks.

I turn to look. Legend.

"You're ready to go, just check out on the way," the doctor says before she slips out the door.

"I've been filtering metals out of the seawater while I dredge out the bay. Ten kiloton warhead, nuclear thermal rocket propelled grenades," I can hear the pleased grin in her voice as she continues, "I'm pretty surprised that the yields came out so even, actually, because I only got to simulate them."

"Shh," I tell her, "You should rest."

She takes the hint, pulls me closer, and pillows her head on my arm, pretending.

I drop to a knee, prop myself awkwardly against Pinky's bed, pet her hand a moment.

I look up at Legend, "The Simurgh has left, fallout is drifting out to sea, and my girlfriend needs her rest. Submit any questions to the Mayors office in writing, please."

Legend looks at Pinky, resting on my arm, "It must be hard, being involved with a cape. It is times like these I'm really glad my husband isn't," he pauses, "I appreciate that I don't have to worry about him being in a fight like this."

I nod, "She's awesome, but I remember how scared I was with the Nine, and for too much of it I couldn't even remember her name. It was only after that that she realized what she could do, because she'd boxed herself in before, and her power didn't like the box she kept it in."

Pinky nods against my arm.

Legend smiles, "We'll get you your list. Could you get it to us in the next week?"

"I think we can have it back to you within seven working days of getting it," I tell him.

"You sound like a government official already."

"I got sworn in a month ago, and spent two months getting transitioned."

-PatB-

A/N: I used Nukemap for effect radii.

20,000,000,000 liters of seawater for 60 kg of uranium, enough for one NERVA engine.

6 kg for the warhead.


	40. Chapter 40

-PatB-

Eidolon's Path to Victory:

Eidolon's comatose form, radioactive uniform cut off, naked under a thin set of hospital blankets, is rolled from the Brockton Bay ICU into Cauldron's infirmary, radioactive contamination already reduced to background levels.

There's a beep from the EKG, then almost a minute of silence, followed by another beep.

"There's something wrong," the medic says, pulling the blanket aside, double-checking the EKG connections, repositioning clips, pulling gently on the stickers, "I should be getting a better reading."

"Can you wake him up?" Alexandria asks, worried for her long-time coworker.

"Not until I can figure out why he's out," the medic scowls, "The EEG isn't working any better."

She checks the IV bag, then looks at his arm, "That's not good," she says of the bubble of fluid by the needle. She palpitates it gently, and it splits, clear reddish fluid gushing down his arm, soaking into the sheet.

More and more of his skin starts splitting, flaking, red dust spilling out.

"What's happening?"

"This is fascinating," a tall woman in a fedora says, leaning against the doorframe, "All the paths have changed."

"Is he dead?"

"Is she breathing?"

Alexandria turns back, looking at the body on the gurney again, as more red dust flows out from under the blankets, the EKG having shifted from intermittent beeping to a steady whine, chest rising and falling steadily.

More dust falls as the left arm shifts on top of the blanket, fingers seem longer, waist narrower. The toes shift down as she watches.

"He might just have boobs," the medic says.

"She'll wake up in a bit, and will need a bath," Contessa says.

-EPtV-

"What happened?"

"He flew into the mushroom cloud of a sixty kiloton atomic, the thinkers say antimatter-catalysed nuclear, detonation."

"Six ten kiloton explosions."

"Close enough for government work. There was enough radioactive seawater in the air that it should have killed him. I think he pulled a power to keep himself safe, or maybe happy, if the paths I see for him are any indication."

"What do you mean?"

-EPtV-

The tall woman stands, shakily and with the medic's help, in front of the mirror, fluffing red dust from her dark, masculine-cut hair onto the shoulders of her hospital gown. "What did I do to myself?" she asks, smearing red dust around as she feels the shape of her face, pausing to check the fine wrinkles by her eyes.

"Disposed of enough radiation to kill a small town, grew about six inches, and made it back alive. Your uniform was apparently so hot they had to put it in a lead box," the medic says, "Lets get you in the shower, you'll be able to see much better once all this dust is off."

"I can see just," she goes quiet, "Yeah, probably."

They get her settled on the shower chair, the back of the gown pulled up, and get the water temperature adjusted.

"Let's get that gown off," the medic says, untying the neck strings she'd tied only a few minutes earlier.

"Davie," the tall woman says with a nod, leaning forward a little as she pulls the gown from behind her.

"Pardon?"

"Call me Davie, I guess."

"OK, Davie. Do you think you'll need more help?"

"I hope not," Davie sighs, "Probably to wash my back."

"I'll be right out here, then, call me when you need some help," the medic gathers up the gown, and turns to turn the shower on.

"Excuse me," Davie says gently.

The medic turns, carefully meets Davie's eyes, pretty teal eyes, "Yes?"

"What's your name?" Davie's smiling, "I feel like I should know the name of the first woman to see me naked."

"Meredith," she says, feeling her ears heat, and quickly turns the shower on before stepping out, leaning back against the wall by the shower enclosure.

-PatB-

A/N: Did you think Amy would steal a heroes powers without at least trying to distr- make him happy?


	41. Chapter 41

-PatB-

Amy Interlude:

It took forever to get home, but. I put my hand on my lens, the world is a far safer place already. I splash some water on my face, look at the bathroom mirror, then sigh, and begin.

I pull Eidolon's power to the surface of my lens, then activate it, blaster, breaker, striker, tinker, stranger, master, a cannibalistic healing factor, hmm, it'll work on me, and his power, let it sink in, oh yes, this will do quite well.

I pull Eidolon's gemma and corona out of my lens, supporting them with my new healing power while I hold them, pull up my hair with my left hand, and press the bit of brain to the back of my neck with my right. I slip it through my skull, merge it into my own, adding the link to Eidolon's passenger even as the biomass disperses, my new power sharing the wealth, so to speak, converting the cells to match mine and shifting them to where they're most needed. Its almost a shame I can't keep this one.

I tell Eidolon's passenger to calm down, that we'll play later. It growls at me.

I need to pee again. The little one isn't even big yet. I take care of that.

"I thought I was gonna die," Lisa exaggerates, stepping around me into the bathroom. If she'd really needed to pee that bad she would have barged in again.

"Do you need a turn, too?" I ask Taylor.

"In a bit," she says, "I need some Amy time right now."

"Yeah, I need you, too."

-PatB-

A/N: Amy's story-breakingly OP in canon . . . what's a little more?


	42. Chapter 42

-PatB-

Pinky's got a grapefruit-sized pearl in her hand, a white lab coat over her pink armor, and a scary smile under her zorro mask. The crowd of Dockworkers shift anxiously

"Each of you gets $50 for showing up. Thank you."

The crowd shifts a little more, remembering, but no one leaves.

"I want to safety-test this, and I need a volunteer. I'm paying $250,000 if it's safe, and a million to your heirs if it kills you. Who's willing?"

Having seen her dive into a mushroom cloud a few days ago, they are a little less sanguine about what she considers safe, but eventually a younger woman steps up, "You're paying the taxes, right?"

Pinky tilts her head to the side, looks at Tattletale.

"Depends. Under the table, you launder it, no taxes."

"Pay off my debts and buy a house?"

"I think we can get the taxes down to 10%, but no more than 20%."

She nods, and Tattletale walks her through the paperwork. The rest of the people filter out, collecting their $50 bills on the way.

"All done?" Pinky asks.

"All done."

"Pull up your shirt," the woman does, and Pinky touches the pearl to her chest, then it sinks in a tiny bit. Pale tendrils flow under the woman's skin, up her neck, around her head, "Any pain? Command hallucinations?"

"No."

The tendrils shift a little, stopping instantly when the woman gasps.

"This is awesome," she says, smiling, nodding.

"Do you have any compulsions? Strange ideas?"

"I know what to do to find the perfect man for me."

"Really? Does he turn into an asshole after a while?"

"Nope, happily ever after, provided we remember to talk when things get difficult."

"Until the end of the world?"

"No, you guys stop it somehow, but if I tell you it gets . . . more difficult."

"Is this going to hurt you when I remove it?"

"Yes," she pauses, and something slides on the floor, "It'll be fine now."

The tendrils pull back into the pearl, and Pinky pulls it free, puts her hand on the woman's tummy a moment, then steps back.

"Get us the details on the big-ticket items, and we'll get them taken care of," Tattletale tells her.

"Thank you!" she laughs, pulls her shirt down, "I gotta go find a green flannel," she says as she walks out the door.

Pinky stares at the pearl in her hand, "Is she fucking with us, or is it safe?"

"My power thinks it's safe."

"So does Coil's. Wanna risk it?"

"Promise not to end the world if she fucks me up?"

Pinky shakes her head, "Of course not. I'll try not to, though."

I blink, realize what they are talking about, "That's the Simurgh's core."

Pinky gives me that look, half proud and half embarrassed, that I've come to associate with her supervillain plans, "Yep."

"You're going to graft it to Tattletale, to power her giant robot."

"And the power synergy — telepathy, precognition, and telekinesis on top of her ability to figure things out?"

"You're sure this'll be safe?"

"As sure as the sun coming up tomorrow," Tattletale answers, "So, like, ninety nine point forty four."

"You'd think we'd be a little more sure about the sun than that."

"Yeah, that would be nice," Pinky agrees, pulling the sphere until it stretches, then shaking it around in a circle, then back and forth, as it reshapes into something like motorcycle spinal protection, "Lock the door."

I lock it, even though there isn't anyone near.

Pinky splits Tattletale's armor from the back of her head to her butt, pulls up her shirt, and unhooks her bra. She takes the pearlescent, segmented panel by the cupped part at the top, holds Tattletale's shirt away from her back, and reaches up under the shirt to cup it around the back of Tattletale's head. She presses it against her back, shifting it a little side to side so it adheres straight all the way down, and tucks the tail of it into the back of Tattletale's jeans. She rubs her hands up and down Tattletale's back, and the white disappears under the skin, writhing slowly, until at last there is no sign that anything has changed at all.

Pinky hooks her back up, pulls her shirt down, and steps back, "Close it up."

Tattletale's armor closes back up, seamless again.

"And you made me a giant robot?"

"A giant robot tadpole," Pinky says, and pulls the most adorable little amphibian out of her lens. It looks just like Alphonse, only more purple. It even has the little bumps at the back of it's head, and the broad, clawless puppy-paws, "Give him some pets, then let him go in the bay. He'll want cheeseburgers daily."

"Cheeseburgers," Tattletale says dubiously.

Pinky and I look at each other, "I guess that's a book we need to find."

Pinky nods, "She's been deprived. We should spank her parents."

"Feel free," Tattletale says, petting the tadpole in her hand. He's purring.

Pinky shrugs at my dubious look.

-PatB-

A/N: The Mysterious Tadpole, Steven Kellog. This Alphonse is a grafted endbringer hybrid like Lisa.


	43. Chapter 43

-PatB-

We're dressed for our run, when Amy rushes up, practically glowing with happiness.

"Twins!" Amy waves a leathery skinned device at us.

"We can't see what it's showing you," Lisa says, a fond smile on her face.

Amy frowns, glances at the TV, glances at her scanner, glances at the TV, "Too much research," and pulls a glob of flesh from her lens, shaping it into a flat panel, soft and leathery, stiff enough not to bend under it's own weight, but not much more, covered in pale, bumpy skin. A tendril extends from her baby scanner, and latches onto the display.

"Here we go," Amy says, "The refresh rate on chameleon skin is pretty low, but should do for this," and the image of two tiny pink lumps appears, each in its own little sack with tiny hands, tiny feet, massively outsized head, "Fraternal twins," she smiles softly at the screen, then at us, "And, something that only I'm awesome enough to detect this early, heteropaternal fraternal twins."

I stare blankly for a moment, more stuck on "twins" than "heteropaternal."

Lisa, however, sqeaks in joy, and wraps Amy in a scanner dropping hug, "I'm gonna be a daddy? We're gonna be daddies?" she grabs me, and pulls me into the hug.

We don't make it out of the house.

-PatB-

A/N: So I decided on this, then discovered while researching that it isn't exactly uncommon . . . at least in sets of fraternal twins who get put through paternity testing.


	44. Chapter 44

_Italics are quotes from Worm._

-PatB-

Riley Interlude:

 _She entered a small grocery store._

The man at the counter turns towards her, then his eyes widen.

Silver-tipped red, slimy tentacles wrap around her, and squeeze tightly. An unmodified human would have popped like a grape, but her ribs creak a little, and she tries to struggle free.

A klaxon sounds, from the man's chest, and she notices the green and gold beetle on his shirt, "Warning, Bonesaw of the Slaughterhouse Nine has been detained in your immediate vicinity. Please evacuate immediately. Warning," the computer's voice from Star Trek booms, unreasonably loud for such a small speaker.

Three more of the things holding her crawl in, small, green bodies with too many long, slender red tentacles and big eyes.

Her frame groans as the four tentacle monsters squeeze harder. Venom leaks and poison glands collapse, flesh tearing around some of her harder parts.

Three of the things hold her tightly as the fourth drags her out the door.

She tries to wiggle her head free, but tentacles are wrappped over the top, and one presses between her lips, the sharp metallic tip hooking over her teeth, pulling her lower jaw to her chest.

She gasps, mostly for effect, unable to get enough air to scream, but not in any danger of suffocating.

After an unknown amount of time, she really should add a clock, and maybe a headphone jack, that would be easier, a roar of jets blows warm air from behind her.

"Hello," a voice says. Riley rolls her eyes, catching sight of scaled, mechanical boots.

The woman continues, "I am Dragon, and this is Defiant. We're here to take custody of Bonesaw."

"Please transmit authorisation code," the computers pleasant, female voice says from one of the tentacle monsters, "Authorization accepted. Two Bedem will maintain control of the prisoner."

"Thank you," Dragon says, and Riley is lowered into her arms, still wrapped in too many slimy red tentacles.

-PatB-

A/N: Whatever Riley is, it's not nearly as squishy as a baseline human.


	45. Chapter 45

-PatB-

"You truly don't care, Taylor's happy with whatever makes you happy," Lisa goes silent, shakes her head, and clatters down the stairs.

I look at Amy with a question on my face and a little shrug.

She replies with a shrug and spread-fingered hands at waist level.

"I guess we'll find out in a bit."

"Probably."

-PatB-

I walk through the crowd smoking at the tables spilling out of "Poppy's Plantation" onto the Boardwalk, between the pair of sixteen foot tall potted rope-grade hemp plants, and in the door.

"Hello!" a cheerful voice greets the sound of the door chime, "Mayor Skitter!" the voice changes, a little worried, as the older woman behind the counter looks up, "What can I help you with?"

"I would like all smoking areas to be at least fifty feet from a public sidewalk," I say, "But you have acquired a good spot, and your shop is an excellent showcase of the benefits of legalization."

She nods, points at the back of the shop, "The back of the shop overlooks the beach, would a patio work?"

"How deep is the beach here?"

"Maybe seventy five feet at high tide? That would leave sixty feet if I put up a fifteen foot patio."

"That would work. I don't want hundreds of pages of lawyerese, but I want to prevent misunderstandings about what is expected."

She nods, "I can understand that. Was there anything else?"

I pull the pretty wood box Lisa gave me out of the silk pocket on right hip of my armor. I slide it open, take out a card, put the box away, and hand it over, "We're establishing a business council to discus economic issues. If you, or a representative could attend, that would be appreciated."

She looks at the card, then back up, "I'll think about it."

"Thank you."

-PatB-

Lisa, because she works as Lisa, is already gone.

Pinky has joined me on my morning run to work, however, down the Boardwalk, up into the docks, back to Downtown.

I drop her off at the building sheathed in pink marble, a discreet bronze sign reads "Pinky's Mad Science Laboratory." As usual, I wait for her to get through security, an exchange of passwords and verification codes to limit the chance of anyone infiltrating. Amy's bedem and my bugs provide the main security, but still.

I run the rest of the way to my office, taking the stairs two at a time, because three at a time slows me down too much.

-PatB-

A/N: Work! What is Lisa talking about?

5 January 2018: 52,272 words, didn't write anything over the holidays, because driving from Oregon to Texas and back . . .


	46. Chapter 46

-PatB-

The lair smells like spiced cider as we enter. I jerk Pinky to a stop, no one in the building but Lisa, according to my bugs.

"S-figeater," I whisper through her commbeetle. She looks fine sitting at a table set for three with the lights lowered in Skitter's room.

Lisa laughs, "L-Nephrite. Come upstairs."

I leave my armor on as I climb the stairs, and Pinky follows my lead. Red roses, four dozen of them, are scattered about my ground floor, and I start to relax, finally. Pinky gives my hand a squeeze, and I nod, squeezing back.

Lisa's walking down the stairs towards us, wearing a short, low-cut red dress with red panties. She laughs, and I look up to see her smiling and shaking her head, "Yeah, the hem's a little high, but you wouldn't have gotten as much of a show if you didn't freak out the second you opened the door."

"You startled me."

"Us," Amy corrects, "Either warn us next time, or," she goes silent as her armor slips back into her lens.

Mine flows back under my shirt, and we start up the stairs.

Lisa kisses Amy first, and I notice that she's actually wearing makeup.

"I see you've pulled out the stops," I say, leaning up for my own kiss.

She smiles, kisses me, then turns and flounces up the stairs in front of us. Amy clenches my hand, and we follow Lisa's swishing skirt up.

Dinner is delicious, and obviously catered. There is a centerpiece of nasturtiums, and very good ice cream after.

Lisa clears the dishes into the sink and puts the leftovers in the fridge with casual telekinesis. She stands, facing away, shoulders trembling, for a long minute. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then turns back to us.

She picks up the table and sets it out of the way, then drops to a knee in front of our chairs, "Archaic pair-bonding ceremonies aren't your thing, I know, but," she holds out her right hand, presenting a pair of silvery rings, set with large, glittering clear green stones, "But would you do me the great honor," she goes silent, her breath racing.

I stare uselessly.

Amy reaches out her left hand, "I would love to," she says. Her face is soft, open, smiling, happy.

Lisa fumbles, comparing rings a moment, before slipping one on Amy's finger. Amy pulls her up into a kiss.

I hold out my hand when Amy lets Lisa go, and manage a pleading whine.

I barely let her get the ring on before I'm kissing her.

-PatB-

A/N: Paranoid? Or just cautious?


	47. Chapter 47

-PatB-

I blink sleepily at Amy, smiling, content, over Lisa's comatose, exhausted, form.

"That was unexpected," she says, squeezing my hand.

I nod, "I didn't feel," stop, "It's kinda dumb. I didn't think there was any reason to risk it, to change what we had."

She grins, "I know, I was like, everything is awesome, everything is cool when you're part of a team."

"And then she didn't even manage to finish asking, but it's like, wow. What the frilly heck?"

"I have no idea what happened to me, but you had elevated serotonin, elevated dopamine and oxytocin."

"That matches what I feel, but why?" I stroke Amy's hand with my thumb, "It's not like she's any more into us, or any less likely to leave, really. We have a 50% divorce rate in this country."

"Is it some sort of crazy? Hormonal influence to make settling down, which increases reproductive success, more attractive?"

"That would make a lot of sense. The longer we spend all bundled up in positive feelings, the more likely we are to work at keeping those positive feelings," I snort, "The more likely we are to put up with horrible behavior by our significant other longer, too, probably. "He was such a good man, he just gets angry," and all that."

Amy nods, "So, entirely aside from how it made us feel, this was obviously important to her."

"So what's her ring size? Should I get you a ring, too?"

"I don't know," she says, her soft smile broadening, "And I think I'd like that."

"This," I shift our hands, getting a tiny sparkle from the stone despite the low lights coming in the window, "Probably is supposed to match her eye color. So two paler green diamonds and a pair of amber ones?"

"My eyes are brown, ahodori," she says, shifting to hide them behind her hair.

"Gold," I say, freeing my hand from hers, brushing her hair back.

She's smiling, but shaking her head anyway, "Perfectly normal brown."

"The palest perfectly normal brown, then, which goes so well with your current hair color."

"I can grow us some good diamonds to match our eye colors, but we'll have to have someone else cut them, unless you've learned how?"

"Nope. I'm sure we can get them done before too long."

-PatB-

A/N: So after deciding on 1 carat bottle-green brilliant-cut diamonds set in platinum, I went looking for pictures.

Fancy deep green diamond, 0.23 carat, oval. $81,800 *blink* *blink* It is very pretty, but.

A fancy vivid green diamond, 0.23 carat, Cushion shape, matches Taylor's eye color, $41,500.

A fancy deep orangy yellow diamond, 0.72 carat, round shape, matches Amy's eye color, $4,050.

The ones Lisa used came from one of Amy's gemstone bushes, I hope.

And yes, Amy and Taylor know more about their biochemistry than their emotional state . . .

5 January 2018: If I don't get October written today, I'm not going to be able to post tomorrow, because the next scene I have written is December . . .

8 January 2017: 54,473 words! A chunk of October.


	48. Chapter 48

-PatB-

We're in costume as we walk down to the beach, the bag of cheeseburgers for Alphonse in my hand, Pinky carrying the picnic basket, and Tattletale walking ahead, "For eye candy."

I watch her hips sway down to the waterline, glancing up occasionally to augment what I know from my bugs.

She plops down, her feet and calves over the edge of wet sand, and the next wave washes over her heels, bringing a dog-sized tadpole with it. He is mostly green, with orange and purple, broad strong shoulders and hips, articulated more like a cat than a dog or salamander, long, thick, vertically flattened tail behind, round protrusions a little like horn buds on the back of his head, broad, clawless feet. He gambols up, nuzzles Lisa, then looks to me for a cheeseburger.

I pull the first one out, and he bolts it, smiling at me with big, limpid, hungry tadpole eyes.

Pinky feeds him the second one, while Tattletale gives him pets and cuddles.

-PatB-

*Taylor!* My commbeetle tells me inaudibly, *Lisa's picking on me,* Amy's distress comes through loud and clear, a squeezing panic in my chest.

I tap both her and Lisa's commbeetles, fast forwarding over the last few minutes, *I'll be there in a few minutes. Sit on her, tell her to shut up every time she opens her mouth, tell her why her behavior bothers you, if she'll shut up long enough to listen.*

"Gotta run, cancel the four o'clock, reschedule them as early as possible, I'll see you tomorrow," I tell Mary.

"Cancel the four o'clock, reschedule early as possible. Got it," she tells me, smiles, waves me toward the door.

"Thank you!" I tell her through the closing door.

"Shut up!" I hear Amy's voice as I rush up the stairs to our room.

Inside, Amy's missing her shirt, and her bra is unhooked, but she does not look like she's having fun.

Lisa's grinning.

I plant a hand on her forehead, and make her look up at me, "Amy isn't enjoying this," she says.

She blinks, and her eyes get wide.

"Yeah. I let you get away with this when you pulled it on me earlier because it was a tiny bit funny," I tell her.

"I don't think it's _funny_ ," Amy says, half-sobbing, harsh, frustrated anger in her voice, "I don't think it's _cute_ , and I **don't** like it," she takes a deep, shuddery breath, reaches behind herself to re-fasten her bra.

I startle at the sight of her tummy, just starting to visibly round, "May I?" I ask, reaching.

She takes my hand and holds it to her tummy. "You lay there and watch. And listen," she tells Lisa, "I don't care if you can see what I want to say before I say it. Unless it's life or death combat? **Let**. **Me**. **Say**. **It**."

"But," Lisa starts, then goes quiet when I put my knee on her eye socket. I've been really impressed with how tough she is now. She doesn't flinch, or squirm, but she does shut up.

"We love you, idiot, not just your power," I tell her, "And we need to get Lisa a better nickname than "Idiot"," I tell Amy.

"Fuu-chan?" Amy asks.

"What?" Lisa replies.

Amy and I stare at her, "Magic Knight Reiearth?" I ask.

Lisa stares back blankly.

"Later," Amy says, "I'm good at putting up with crap, so when I tell you to stop, fucking stop! Listen to my words, and talk **to** me, not **at** me. Do you understand?"

Lisa tries to nod, so I move my knee off her face, "Yes, I understand. I don't get to play with people like that, there's no one else I can trust with it, and it gets so tempting."

Amy looks down at her, twines the finger of her free hand through Lisa's, and puts it on her tummy next to mine, "I don't think you can feel them yet, but I can."

Lisa's grin comes back.

"Write us a transcript for the Senate hearing later this month," Amy tells her, "We can bench race the proper balance between sweet and terrible."

"My powers like that plan," Lisa's caressing Amy's tummy.

"When will we feel them move?" I ask her.

"This one," she pats her own tummy, "Three weeks. These two," she smiles, patting Amy's tummy.

Amy's tummy shifts under my hand, a tiny poke against my palm.

"Wow."

The room brightens, Amy smiling as she tilts her head back, leaning forward into my kiss.

-PatB-

A/N: You already knew Amy and Taylor were new-school anime fen, right? (Macross to Evangelion, basically, with a couple of later series that match stylistic or thematically)


	49. Chapter 49

-PatB-

I set the "Worksheet for Preparing INTENTION OF MARRIAGE" form on the table, and fill out the "PERSON A" boxes, front and back, checking the box labeled "BRIDE", my name, "FEMALE" under "GENDER", dad's address under "RESIDENCE", my birth city, dad and mom's names and birthplaces. Further down the page I enter look at the boxes labeled "MIDDLE" and "LAST", then turn to the back, and put down that it's my first marriage, white, French, secondary. I line out all the boxes labeled "PERSON D" and pass the form to Amy.

She scratches her chin at the boxes labeled "LAST NAME AT BIRTH", frowns at the line saying "Age Waivers not permitted for same gender marriages per: RSA 457:4", and fills in her demographic information on the back. She passes it to Lisa.

Lisa starts with one of the lines Amy and I had left blank, writing "Hebert" in the box labeled "LAST" under "Upon Execution of this Marriage: Person "C" shall be known as:". She looks at it a moment, then writes "Lisa" under "MIDDLE" before filling in names and addresses, then demographic information on the back. She looks at the line "Marriage is planned to take place on", and asks "When do we want to get married?"

"After we find out Amy's birth name and her mother's name and birthplace? Her father's too, looks like."

"Before the babies are born?" Amy says.

"November," Lisa pauses, pulls up a calendar on her phone, "16, the judge will have an opening then," she says, without looking at the calendar she pulled up, "Do you mind a Wednesday?"

"At the courthouse? That's hardly the marriage for a millionaire."

"You don't want anything fancy," Lisa tells me, "Amy'll be happy if Vicky's there, and I'll be happiest if my parents aren't there. This will give us six weeks to find names, panic, shop for dresses, and invite the few people we want to be there."

"That sounds fine. I'd like to use Hebert," Amy says.

"OK, that's fine with me," I look at the blank middle name slot, "Anne with an E, Claire, or?"

"You'd go with Diana, then?" Amy asks, smiling.

"If you'd like."

"Claire," she says, "You can keep Anne."

"And if they decide to fuss over the age thing?"

"Amy can give me a dick to wave at them, and then it won't be a problem, although we'd have to change my gender on the form," I sigh, "I'll have Mary push down yet another version of the form, without the 457:4 line, anyway."

-PatB-

Pinky is seated in the audience behind me, and I'm addressing the "Special Select Committee on Parahuman Activities" as they ask, again, why we have nuclear thermal rocket propelled atomic grenades.

"We had one human casualty from this attack," I say, getting annoyed. I push that out to my swarm, although I'd prefer a hug, "Not fatality, casualty. We killed eight million bugs, five thousand rats and squirrels, four hundred cats, and a hundred dogs. I rounded the numbers, but they are written down in the incident report submitted last month."

"That is a lot of power to be in the hands of," the plump old man in a suit that probably cost as much as my dad's house starts.

"A sixteen year old girl?" I continue for him when he trails off, unable to find a polite way to put it, "A sixteen year old pregnant girl?" I push a little further, "An unmarried sixteen year old pregnant girl?"

I shake my head, "It isn't germane, but she's getting married soon."

"Congratulations," the lone woman on the committee says, smiling.

"Thank you," I smile back at her, not that she can see through my mask, "When she was thirteen she read Cat's Cradle and made what she called ice-nine. It isn't actually, merely a complex organic molecule that will, at about three percent concentration, raise the freezing point of salt water to seventy degrees, and fresh water to about ninety, along with a photosynthetic bacteria to produce it. You will notice a distinct lack of frozen oceans."

"Are you trying to make us feel better about the fact that your team is a nuclear power?" a less-plump man asks.

I cock my head, "Maybe a little? I am trying to cushion the fact that if the endbringers come back to Brockton Bay they will be met with antimatter weapons."

"Antimatter?" the woman asks.

"We have a positron rifle. Five shot capacity, fifty grams of antimatter per shot. Approximate yield of five megatons if there is a containment failure. The rest of the weapons system is currently growing, but should be operational next month, and fully mature in time for a normally-spaced endbringer attack. We will not be leaving Brockton Bay to fight endbringers until our children are old enough to look after themselves, however."

"So the rest of the world is on it's own?"

"I am not going to send a pregnant girl around the world to fight monsters that have killed millions. If the monsters come to us, we will be ready."

"And if we try to force you?"

"If you can convince me of your moral superiority we will help you. If you bring me an illegal order, or send forces on illegal orders, you can expect that they will not be complied with."

"Not complied with?" the woman asks.

"I will use enough force to maintain my team's safety and independence, where enough will depend on my resources and the level of threat brought to bear."

"What sort of resources?"

"Bugs, teammates, minions, the civil employees of Brockton Bay. Atomics are unlikely to be used on anything less dangerous than an endbringer."

"Bugs?"

"I met Pinky while I was robbing a bank. We had Grue's darkness and my bugs to keep thirty-four employees and customers under control. I threatened black widow spider bites, but I did not have to bite anyone. I took down Lung, the Dragon of Kyushu, twice. That was before Pinky started making me bugs."

"What can you do now?"

"Using less-lethal bugs," I go silent, "No, I couldn't safely knock out everyone in Washington, D.C. I could safely render the city inoperable."

"Inoperable?"

"Knock every third adult and second child unconscious? Nothing would get done except emergency services."

"That's terrible!" the plump man says.

"Mercy is for the strong," I tell him.

"I thought the quote was mercy is for the weak?" a different less-plump man asks.

"The Flash Gordon quote is. When you are weak you can't risk letting your enemies live, or fighting at less than a hundred and ten percent. When you are strong you can lay out rules of engagement that limit your ability to win, but protect others, like the U.S. did in Vietnam, and in the Middle East on Aleph."

"And rendering the city 'inoperable'," I can hear the quotes, "Is merciful?"

"Legend, or Alexandria, or Eidolon, could flatten this city. Only Pinky or I could stop it in it's tracks without killing thousands of people."

"And if we decide you are too dangerous?" the woman asks, looking pointedly at one of the slenderer men.

"You'd better hope you got all of us at once. We're tougher than we look, and our team is our family. What would you do to protect, or avenge, your family? Would you risk a deadman switch?"

The slender man shifts, a little green, a little pale.

-PatB-

A/N: Started with an actual New Hampshire marriage license application. Did you know than NH legalized same-sex marriage in 2009? I didn't. 457:4 refers to the limiting of same-sex marriages to people over 18, while opposite sex marriages are legal at 13 for girls and 14 for boys . . . but supervillain.

Skitter had already fixed the two-person limit on her marriage license applications.

10 January 2018: 56,477 words.


	50. Chapter 50

-PatB-

I stare at the calendar, by the refrigerator in the kitchen.

"What's up?"

"Halloween is next week."

Amy looks down at her still mostly flat tummy, "Too small to be a pumpkin, much less a watermelon."

My eyes ache from my smile.

I'm still holding her and petting her tummy when Lisa gets home.

-PatB-

I'm staring at my "costume" in the mirror, tattered wisps of grey and black silk that leave my most of legs, arms, and tummy exposed, and a silken zorro mask that leave my mouth and chin exposed.

Tattletale is far less dubious about hers, posing, flipping her skirt at us, and Amy's working on hers, adjusting the material to show off her barely-there baby bump.

"You really want to wear these outside?" I ask, frowning a little.

"I love Halloween," Amy tells me, "You get to walk around, hassle your neighbors, and they give you _candy_."

She poses a moment, continues, "It's like, it feels like, community and love. Even if it is only once a year, it is completely awesome."

I blink back sudden tears, "I never thought of it like that."

"Most people don't," Amy agrees, making sure the mouse face is centered over her breasts, the long t-shirt darted into a short dress, to be worn with pink tights when we go trick-or-treating.

Tattletale's purple and black dress is leather, grown and formed by Amy's power, short enough that when she bends over her panties show. She says she's waiting on the weather to figure out if she'll wear the purple bike shorts or the black tights. I'm dubious, because her comfortable temperature range is now three to six hundred and fifty kelvin.

My comfortable temperature range is only two hundred fifty to three hundred and forty kelvin, with a distinct preference for the two eighty to three ten range. I'm not sure how Amy's intending to go with basically a t-shirt and tights, but Halloween's rarely actually cold, just chill and dank, although it drizzled the year before last. We'll have to bundle her up if it rains this year.

-PatB-

There's yet another group of us, much younger, maybe ten, a white boy dressed as Grue, a blonde girl as Skitter, a short-haired redheaded kid in a skirt as Bitch, a brown-skinned girl in pink on the blonde's arm, and a tall skinny kid in black jeans and a purple shirt on her other arm. I nudge Pinky and point with my chin.

She smiles and laughs, "That's cute," she drags us in that direction.

"Cool costumes," ten-year-old Tattletale says, a smirk in her voice.

"Thank you, you as well," my Tattletale answers.

"My dad wouldn't let me get a proper Tattletale costume," she says, pulling at her jeans, "No short skirts or spandex, he said. But he did get me a new shirt, and help me spray paint it."

"That's very well done. Did you do the stencil?"

"Yes, I had to work off news pictures, because he won't let me on PHO at home," she continues, "But it came out pretty well." Her Skitter and Pinky nod agreement.

"I think it looks very good. A lot like what I would have worn, if I didn't have thousands of bugs to make my costumes."

"No," ten-year-old Bitch says, "Mayor Skitter?" his voice breaks, and I can see his neck blush.

I have the few thousand bugs in my costume buzz and rustle and click.

He smiles, "Awesome."

"The testosterone fairy has hit you early, hasn't he?" Pinky asks.

"Unfortunately," he agrees.

"I can always use more experimental subjects. Stop by my lab during business hours, if you want to talk about it."

He shrugs, "OK."

"Have fun," Tattletale says, "We have candy to acquire, and community bonds to strengthen," she flicks her fingertips at the kids, "And so do you."

"Community bonds?" ten-year-old Grue asks.

"Meet your neighbors, knock on their doors, give them candy. Emphasize the positive aspects of living in close proximity to too many people."

"But they're supposed to give us candy," ten-year-old Pinky says.

"What about when they don't have any candy to give, but answer the door anyway?" I ask her.

"Oh!" she says, smiling under her zorro mask.

Ten-year-old Skitter leads them off down the street the way we came, and we continue ourselves.

There are many vacant houses, some empty, some seeming to just be waiting for their people to come back from work, fully furnished, power on, leaves piling up and grass uncut. We're back up to over two hundred thousand people, a few thousand of those working on the evacuation corridors, clearing and reworking the streets so next time the Simurgh comes, we'll be able to evacuate the city in an almost-adequate twenty five minutes.

The ones that have people? There's a better collection of Halloween decorations, pumpkins, and porch lights than I've seen in years. Like Sierra, at my lair, they're giving out good candy, too.

"Aren't you three a little old?" the grey haired lady at the door asks, a little stooped, cane in one hand, bowl of candy in the other. She's smiling, and holding out the bowl.

"Got to get the little ones started early," Pinky tells her, "We're collecting for six."

"Oh my," the lady says, "I didn't realize. Make sure to grab one each, then."

Pinky reaches out and touches her hand, "Thank you,"

"How far along are you?"

"Almost twenty weeks."

"Don't eat too much candy, it's not good for the little ones," the old woman, taller, straighter, a little more muscle to her arms, tells her.

"I know, but it's so yummy. I keep it to special occasions."

Another old woman comes to the door, her cane sliding on four tennis balls, and props herself in the doorway, "It's been a while since I've seen such pretty trick-or-treaters," she smiles, voice weak and a little raspy.

"Gertrude."

"Abigail."

"Don't let her fool you, she's not a dangerous old lady."

Tattletale laughs, suddenly, cutting herself off with a hand in her mouth.

Pinky grabs Gertrude's hand, "Happy Halloween," she says,

Gertrude waves back, "Happy Halloween!" she calls, her voice stronger, less raspy.

Halfway to the next house Pinky stops, squashes Tattletale and I into a hug, and yells, "I love being a supervillain!" into my bosom. I get most of my bugs out of the way in time.

A few blocks later a man's stomach rumbles at us while he's putting candy in Tattletale's bag.

She hands him a card, "Call them, be honest, they'll find you work."

He looks at her, dubious, "You'll have to talk to them on the phone, but give them the code on the card, and all you'll have to do is show up and work."

The right side of his face wrinkles at his mouth, and he looks even more dubious.

"I'm sleeping with the Mayor,' she cuts her eyes towards me, "We need plenty of bodies, and there's still plenty of work to do."

He looks at the card, then finally nods.

I ask Tattletale about it, once we're back on the sidewalk.

"Long term underemployed. Got out of the military, crap job-search skills, barely adequate talk-to-people skills. Goes to drill once a month, covers his rent with that and his disability check, goes hungry when he forgets to show up for free produce. Makes a little too much for food stamps, but not enough to afford food consistently. And he buys canned goods instead of beans and rice."

"He was handing out candy?" Pinky asks.

"Halloween is more important to him than eating for a week. He'll eat the leftover candy tomorrow, anyway."

I tap my commbeetle, "Remind me tomorrow: 3535 west twelfth street, deliver a pot of soup," I tell it when it chirps. It chirps again.

It's only ten when we get back to my lair, and my pillowcase is full of candy. Tattletale is carrying Pinky's bag as well as her own.

"We're running low on candy, boss," Sierra says.

The big boxes on the table are empty, the bowl by the door already half empty. I fill it from my bag, then pour the rest into one of the boxes. I card through it with my fingers, throw a dozen candies back in my bag.

Tattletale sets Pinky's bag down, and pours most of her bag into the box, "People feel safer than they have in years, probably decades. The trick-or-treaters will be out until midnight."

"On a school night?"

"Yep. The kids will be tired and sugar-high tomorrow."

-PatB-

A/N: Halloween is awesome.

11 January 2018: 59,508 words written. 50 chapters posted in 50 days. And I'm pondering what happens from 17 November 2011 to 12 December 2011 . . . Any requests? Ideas?


	51. Chapter 51

-PatB-

Tattletale is still wearing her Halloween costume, the dress of it, anyway, when we wake up in the morning.

Amy has her hand up under it, petting Lisa's baby bump. Lisa's watching, smiling softly, and Amy meets her gaze, a speculative look on her face.

"No, still no more babies for me. No, not even if you do that. Not that I'd mind that, but still no more babies."

"But."

"No. If I change my mind in a few years, you can un-fix me, and try. But for now, until we save the world, no."

"Aww," Amy shifts, settling between Lisa's legs, and begins to stroke the inside of her thighs.

Lisa groans, and pulls her legs wider.

-PatB-

"It's a wedding dress. For a stick. I have a feeling that any of the ones on the mannequins would do just fine. Amy and Lisa need to think it's pretty. Make that happen in an hour, or I'm wearing a suit."

"But," Vicky says.

Dad laughs.

Carol and Mark split the difference.

Aisha looks at them, then laughs.

Sabah hides her face in her hand, shakes her head, and sighs. She sets a sketchbook on the Dallon's kitchen table, pulls it open at a bookmark, and shows it to me, "Does this look good to you?"

She has our heights right, and proportions, artful flounces of white accentuating our best features, but sharing a theme. Having seen a couple of her pieces as both sketch and clothing, Amy and Lisa will look gorgeous in them. "It should be fine.

"OK, shoo. Next bride!" she calls.

"It's a little silly if we're all looking at the same sketch."

"That's fine," Lisa tells me, coming through the door.

"Be good," I tell her.

That gets me a kiss to tide me over the interminable thirty feet it takes me to get to the couch Amy's on.

-PatB-

"This is really bad for us, you know," Lisa says, opening another peanut butter cup.

"Yeah, but," Amy says, peeling the chocolate coating off a peppermint patty, "The quicker you eat it, provided you don't die from acute sugar poisoning-"

"Can you do that?"

"People have, but it's very rare. If you don't die, the quicker you go through your candy stash, the less long-term metabolic damage, unless you stretch it out to improbable lengths."

"But if you bolt your candy you don't get to savor it," I say, looking at the tiny dark chocolate, white nougat, and caramel candy bar in front of me.

"Being given candy is more important for me than eating it," Amy says, licking peppermint filling off her fingers, "Not that I won't eat it, but."

"Don't be surprised if you keep the empty box," Lisa says.

"Yeah, that," Amy blinks at the pillowcase, that had started the evening bulging and was now somewhere towards half full, then yawns.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, tired. Insulin shock, telling me it's time for a nap, so I'll stop eating the yummy sweet stuff."

"Is that how it works."

"Yep. When your body tells you it's time to stop eating, you should stop."

I gather the trash, and drop the bag of candy on the desk. Lisa's snoring on Amy's shoulder when I get back. "Pretending," Amy tells me very softly.

"I can tell," I tell her less softly, snuggling up to her other side.

"How?"

"She's snoring. I remember the discussion on sleep apnea."

She shifts to kiss me on the forehead, "Ahodori."

-PatB-

A/N: I didn't actually find anyone who'd died of acute sugar poisoning, but apparently 58 cans of soda will do the trick if ingested quickly enough . . .


	52. Chapter 52

-PatB-

 **THE MAYOR'S NEW PET**

 **By Stan Lee** November 5, 2011

Mayor Skitter, the Parahuman Supervillian elected Mayor of Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, has something she does every evening. Along with fellow villains Tattletale and Pinky, she takes a picnic basket and a huge bag of cheeseburgers, and goes to the beach to play with her tadpole, Alphonse.

[Picture of Alphonse with a football in his mouth]

Yes, just like the book.

[Picture from _The Mysterious Tadpole_ of that Alphonse in front of a Christmas tree with a football in his mouth]

I got to talk with them for a bit last night, about their tadpole, the city, and their plans.

SL: Alphonse is getting big.

P: Yes, he'll be fully grown in a couple months, but he won't be an adult for several years. He has a lot to learn.

SL: He has fetch down. I know a number of old dogs who don't.

T: He's not a dog, but he loves to play.

SL: Is it safe for other people to play with him?

MS: Alphonse is a friend to all children, both the young and the young at heart. If you're nice to him, he'll be nice to you. If you want to roughhouse, you can, and he'll be as gentle as needed to keep you safe.

SL: How about keeping him safe?

P: He's tough, good at sensing intentions, and good at hiding. Any attempt to harm Tattletale's Tadpole will be dealt with with all appropriate force.

SL: How are things going in Brockton Bay?

MS: I am very pleased. The youth gangs have settled into a very 50's movie hang out together and get in fights with each other vibe, although they're still working on their choreography.

SL: Choreography?

T: Chalk tags, musical numbers, and no guns? We pay them out of the crime-prevention funds, they get to work out their aggressive tendencies in a relatively safe environment, and they have a reason to look into the arts. If some of them learn something useful, even better.

SL: How about the adult gangs?

MS: They're having more trouble. Legalization has removed most of their profits, and they're having to adapt to a changing world. Many of them are drifting into private security, others are trying to go legit in their fields of expertise, and a fair few have decided to sleep on the beach until they figure it out.

SL: Sleep on the beach?

MS: There is plenty of seafood to be caught, even with Alphonse making a dent in it, and no reason not to let them hang out until they figure out something better to do. Besides, I find it very amusing to watch members of rival gangs argue the best way to catch, or eat, a fish.

SL: Don't they make a mess? Litter, other refuse?

MS: They have to clean up after themselves, or they get to spend the night in jail.

SL: I remember reading about overcrowding in Brockton Bay's jails.

T: Skitter fixed that. Now we have enough space, and police hours, to enforce the little things, and the big things take care of themselves. It is really amazing what can be accomplished with Parahuman powers.

SL: There's only three of you. There must be a lot of work to go around.

MS: I, eventually, learned to delegate. I take care of the things that only I can take care of, and let other people take care of the rest. I spot-check sometimes, but try not to micro-manage. It's been hard, going from being a member of a small group, to running an organization of a couple hundred, to being Mayor for a city of two hundred thousand. I can't catch everyone who's breaking my rules and deal with all of them, not and have the city function when I'm out of town.

SL: You told the Senate Committee on Parahumans that you will not be going to Endbringer battles. Why not?

MS: My wives are pregnant. We discussed this, and unnecessary risks are unnecessary. If an Endbringer comes here, we'll fight. If not, we will not risk our children's lives to drive off creatures that have literally killed millions. If they can't go, I may no go without them. The Endbringers have been attacking for decades. It will be a few years while our daughters get their feet under them, then we'll see about hunting otherworldly horrors.

SL: Daughters?

P: Triplets.

T: With two birth mothers, but pretty much.

Public opinion outside of Brockton Bay seems split, with both conservatives and liberals finding things to worry about, but inside the city people seem as happy as, well, a tadpole eating a cheeseburger.

[Picture of Alphonse closing his mouth on a dinner-plate size cheeseburger]

-PatB-

A/N: Fluff! Total puff piece. Entirely rigged to show them in the best light, and the reporter wasn't in on it ^_^


	53. Chapter 53

-PatB-

I lean back in my chair and check on the others.

Brian's talking to the same girl as he was at Lisa's birthday party. She's smiling at him, patting his hand. The corners of my eyes crinkle.

Bitch and her friend are walking west of town, half the forty three dogs off leash, but staying with the group. I should learn her friend's name.

Probably Brian's, too.

Alec's playing video games with Aisha. Plenty of muscle tone on both of them, so they're not just slacking off. And it's not like I've been ignoring them since . . . yeah, it has been a couple months since I paid them any attention.

Lily's at Sabah's. And mostly dressed. It's good they're still getting on.

"So," Pinky says to the boy outside her building door, "Are you going to come up to the lab?"

"And see what's on the slab?" he continues the quote.

"Do I see you shiver?"

"With antici-" he pauses, "Pation," he finishes firmly.

"I've got a public meeting room. Frosted glass, enough to prevent lip-reading."

"But clear enough to limit accusations of impropriety."

"Yep. Come inside. Tea, water, coffee?"

"Coffee," he says.

Amy pours a couple cups, proffers cream, gets a nod.

"So, what's up?" she asks, blows on her coffee.

He sips his coffee, "I think I'm a girl? or I'd be happier as a girl? or less unhappy as a girl?" he shakes his head. "Something like that."

"Have you talked to your parents about it?"

"I really don't want to, I just want it fixed."

"Your parents should know before you turn up as a girl."

"You can't just make me feel like a guy?"

"Brains are complex, and gender is all tangled up in everything. It would be far easier to give you a girl's body," she snorts, "Heck, turn you back into a boy if you change your mind, for that matter, than change your gender in your brain. And that's leaving aside probable mental side affects of changing your gender identity."

"What else can you do?"

"Tell you some books to read, slow down development of secondary sexual characteristics, point you in the direction of other people to talk to," she sips her coffee, "And tell you that you're perfectly normal to feel this way. Most people just muddle on with their assigned gender, but some are really intense about their gender, feel really strongly for or against their assigned gender. Some of them need to change a lot to be happy, some only a little bit."

"How do you figure that out?"

"You read about it, you talk to people, you try it out."

"And you want me to tell my parents."

"They'll probably worry. They'll probably be upset when they figure out you're a girl if you get physical changes done before you tell them."

"Yeah," he says, frowning into his cup. "What books should I read?"

"I'd start with _Vested Interests_ and _Gender Outlaw_, both of which should be at the library."

I open my eyes, call up the library's catalog online, and check. Neither of those titles are available.

Quest in hand, I start looking into how to make the library order a book.

-PatB-

I turn the engagement ring around on my finger, the two diamonds, one dark green and the other amber, set in platinum and rose gold, glinting in the light. Lisa had twisted the bands, telekinetically welded them back together afterwards, making one ring out of two. Amy's ring has two shades of green, gold and platinum, and Lisa's amber and pale green, in rose gold and yellow. I force unreasonable nervousness into my swarm, waiting for my turn under Sabah's needles.

They will be gorgeous. So long as they're happy with how I look, it's all fine, so what am I freaking out about?

Amy snuggles under my chin, and I cuddle her close, "Have I told you recently that you're unbelievably awesome?"

"Yesterday," she says, "I love you too."

A little later, Lisa comes out, singing, "Toma~ranai mirai he mezashite, yuzu~renai negai wo dakishimete~," and picks us both up, hugging us to her bosom as she spins in a circle before sitting down with us in her lap.

"Telekinesis is **awesome** ," she says quietly, "Thank you Amy."

"You're welcome," she gives Lisa a kiss.

"And it's your turn, Taylor," Lisa says a moment later, slowly letting go of me, "Last and prettiest."

"Idiot," I call her, but give her a kiss anyway.

"Me too," Amy says, "In case you don't make it back."

A risk like that calls for groping, too. She is flushed and panting when I say, "Onward, into the breach, to face the furious pins and needles that may spell my doom."

Amy smiles, a little, and Lisa laughs.

I step through the door, to face my destiny.

-PatB-

A/N: So totally confused by their feelings. And Amy's studying brains, so an early-pubescent with gender issues? Good data point.


	54. Chapter 54

-PatB-

"Remember, remember, the sixteenth of November," Amy starts, pauses, then continues with a half-smile, "The gunpowder treason and plot."

Lisa groans, and pokes Amy gently in the ribs.

Amy squeaks and jumps.

"What was that?" Lisa asks, "I get the Guy Fawkes reference, but."

"Yeah, I started it, then lost how I was going to finish it. And I was was referencing _V for Vendetta_, which references Fawkes."

"Haven't seen it," Lisa starts. She continues before either of us can speak, "Or read the comic. I'll add it to the list."

I give her a hug, "We'll watch it in a little while. It's kinda dark."

"Worse than _Watchmen_?"

"About as bad."

"I still say we should have Alphonse be the ring bearer," Lisa changes the subject.

-PatB-

Alphonse, as amusing as an elephant-sized tadpole in the courthouse sounds, is not the ring bearer. Alec, bouncing on the steps of the courthouse, is the ring bearer, and Aisha claimed the role of flower girl, somehow.

Dad's walking to my left, Mark is walking with Amy, and Brian's Lisa's second . . . I'm not sure how this marriage ended up as a duel, but.

"Now," Carol's voice says over the commbeetles, and we start up the stairs.

Once we reach the top step, our seconds step back, and I get to look at Amy and Lisa. Sabah's sketches, as expected in no way did them justice.

I blink, my vision blurring, wet trails on my cheeks, too wide mouth curled up, eyes crinkled. I manage to pull Amy's ring off the pillow Alec holds to us, and fumble it onto her finger while Lisa fumbles with my left hand.

There are words, and then we're kissing.

-PatB-

I'm face down, my arms crossed something like a mummy, two sleeping pregnant girls . . . my two, for as long as we can make it work, squashing me into the mattress. My fingers tingle, numb, asleep, and I shift a little. Amy makes a noise, nuzzles into my neck a bit.

I shift my attention to let them sleep.

.c.

They're watching the news, commbeetles on their shirts, cuddling a little, "Aww, isn't that sweet," the woman is saying.

"That tall girl looks like it's the happiest day of her life. Top of her head's gonna fall off, she's smiling so much."

I'm blubbering on screen, wrapped around Lisa and Amy, but I really do look happy. Lisa's a little happier, and Amy's got a big smile for the cameras tilting the corners of her eyes.

Carol's got a big grin, and an arm about Mark. The girls have headed down the steps, and the cameras have turned back to her, "There will be no public reception, and the million dollars that could have been spent on this wedding will be donated to charity, although there will be a public banquet at the Forsberg Gallery. Public, in this case, means free food for everyone who shows up."

Hmm.

.c.

Greg Veder's holed up, inside, awake and on a computer, at about eleven thirty on a Wednesday night. He's on PHO.

Didn't think our marriage rated a PHO thread . . . Oh, yeah, we are the first multiple marriage to make the news, aren't we. Too rich to make a good test case, so I'm expecting hassles for either the woman with two husbands or the line marriage of nine, but maybe they'll take a hail mary pass at us instead.

"The tall girl, Taylor? She was in my class for a while, but she left school after Leviathan. She works for the Mayor. I'm glad to see her happy, she had it rougher than some of the kids at Winslow.

Oh, Taylor, Emma says to thank your wives for reminding her what happens to lots of young models in strange cities." He types, reads it over, presses send.

Maybe I should read my PHO threads . . .

.c.

I shake my head a bit, I generally have better things to do. Lisa shifts, this time.

.c.

Bitch is asleep, curled up with her friend and about ten dogs. I do need to figure out that kid's name.

.c.

The girl Brian's been talking too, too. I glance in, Brian's commbeetle's tucked in his shirt, and that's a girl's voice, yeah, I can ask him later.

.c.

No 911 calls, no emergency calls on the commbeetles, three way rumble between youth gangs by the docks . . .

.c.

I smile, 'cause they're going by the numbers, posing, dancing, singing their theme songs. Still not as good as the number Lisa cooked up for me, but getting better. No one loses bladder control, anyway.

Everyone's warmed up by the end of the last song. They look around at each other, decide, by silent mutual consent, that the first round is a draw, and move in for fisticuffs. They charge like berserkers, wailing on anyone who isn't in a matching costume, and sometimes ones who do.

After a bit they're tired, and separate, tally up who has the fewest injured past the point of walking on their own, and declare the Ladybugs the winners, with the Jets and the Lizards tied for second.

I follow the Ladybugs as they support their wounded away from the fight, or mosh, really. "I've got a loose tooth. Any other real damage?" The short girl who ran the gang asked, poking her swelling face.

"Doesn't seem like it," a taller blonde says, prodding at a heavily built black girl's ribs, "No broken bones, doesn't seem like anyone has internal bleeding."

"You all remember the symptoms, right?"

"Yes, Rachel," the other girls reply.

"I mean it, excessive abdominal pain, dizziness when standing, bleeding from places you shouldn't, strange bruises where you didn't get hit, get checked. We have a rep to maintain, we're the baddest of the three girl gangs in town, and any of you passing out in the middle of a number," she growls, "I'll kick you out myself."

"How do we rate against the boys?"

"The Jets and Sharks are the top boy gangs, and we just kicked the Jets' asses, Mercedes."

"And the Undersiders?"

Rachel laughs, "If the Undersiders wanted to rumble with us," she shakes her head, "We'd have fun until we hit Tattletale or Pinky too hard, then Skitter would make us all cry."

"If we didn't hit the pregnant girls?"

"They'd beat on us until we got tired, then they'd walk away," taller blonde says, "That's if we don't lose right away because someone pisses herself during their opening number."

"That was one time, Quinn," a latina girl complains, "I don't think there was a gang there that didn't have anyone piss themselves during Skitter's number."

"That one boy? Who fainted?" a different blonde laughs, "Mommy," she whimpers, mimicking.

"Yep, until we can scare the piss out of people and make them faint, we gotta keep practicing!" Rachel demands, walking backwards in front of her gang, "We'll work on our routine after school, so get cleaned up and get to bed."

"Yes, mommy," someone says, actually not mocking.

.c.

I shake my head, laughing a little.

"What are you laughing at?" Lisa asks, smiling from where she slid off my back.

"You know."

"Yes, but you want to tell me."

"The youth gangs are working so well."

"Yes?"

"The Ladybugs had a better number than the Jets and the Lizards, but not enough better that they'd concede the rumble, and then beat the Jets and Lizards down. It was glorious."

Lisa smiled, "No one was hurt, then?"

"Nope. They had fun together, then walked off nursing their bruises. Nothing on the line but their rep with the other gangs."

"Everyone on board for the Solstice Rumble in the park?"

"Yep. Know what they decided for the prizes?"

"Tell me."

"Loser eats first, winner serves the banquet."

"All rep," Lisa agrees.

-PatB-

A/N: People join gangs for belonging, and company, and a chance to engage in age-appropriate antisocial behavior. Skitter's taken all of the profit out of it, laid down some limits, and demonstrated that playing like you live in West Side Story can be scary and cool instead of campy and silly . . .

Oh, and a wedding!

15 January 2018: 61,096 words.


	55. Chapter 55

-PatB-

Alphonse is roughhousing with some kids when we get there.

I startle as he trips, rolls, squashing the girl on his shoulders into the sand before rolling over two more and stepping on a third.

There is no snapping sound of breaking bones, no spurting blood, no screams, just a bit of sputtering as the kids dig themselves out, "That was awesome!" the girl who got squashed says.

"Yeah, it's really good the sand's so soft, or that would have hurt!" the boy who got stepped on says, swiping sand out of his hair.

Pinky laughs, softly, "Told you he'd keep the kids safe."

-PatB-

Lisa interlude:

Three in the morning, on a work night. Sigh.

"Are you ready?" Pinky asks me, "Alphonse is ready."

*All Clear* Skitter tells me, with a thought that feels a lot like a hug.

I give her a squeeze as I climb up onto Alphonse's paw, and he lifts me up to his neck. He's much bigger than an elephant now, about the size of a large plane. He'll be the size of a hanger by the time he's fully grown.

He shifts and wiggles, limbs changing like a movie werewolf, armor flowing out of wherever it's stored, and a purple hatch opens up and back behind me, revealing a dark orifice. Considering Amy designed this, I'm glad it isn't cunt pink, and doesn't look like a vagina. It looks much more like a toothless mouth. I climb inside anyway.

Alphonse gets to his feet, wiggles his fingers, swirls his arms around, and the tube swallows me, gentle muscular contractions drawing me deeper, around his spine, into an armored capsule behind his primary heart. The strawberry scented, red, pillowy flesh swells, sealing the entry tunnel even as the sphincter at the bottom closes me in the perfect darkness.

*Erectile tissue

I know that, Amy made Alphonse. She always uses erectile tissue for shock protection. The lining of the capsule swells, and I curl into a comfortable position before it squashes me into an uncomfortable one.

"LCL が流入している," flashes in front of my eyes, or in my brain, and I almost sigh.

*The LCL will reduce your compressibility, increasing your shock resistance

My shock resistance is already super high! The strawberry scent flows around me as the liquid flows up my body, and I sigh, letting all the air out of my lungs before breathing in the salty strawberry flavored fluid. It tastes like Taylor has since Amy talked her into fruit-flavored lube. At least it isn't lychee or mulberry or some other super-sweet white fruit. The though of being submerged in my own oxygenated lubricant *shudder*.

The worst part is that Amy probably didn't even think of it like that.

*Amy knows everyone else is bothered by blood-flavored bioroids

Tell me something I don't know!

*Unless you override the safeties you can stomp people into the ground without hurting them

That's pretty cool. I indulge a moment, plotting a route that would let me step on everyone in Brockton Bay. It would only be three hours work.

Yeah, at that point it is work, and, I look over the collateral damage, about two billion dollars in repair costs. Not today.

A couple parts of me are very disappointed.

I focus outside, look left, look right, and we turn, dashing down the beach, one step, two, *splash*, *splash*, *splash* across the bay like a jesus lizard, pure muscle and speed, a move that should be entirely impossible.

We slow, deliberately, tumble into the water. We should be too dense to float, but we swim just fine, full tarzan-crawl to the edge, then climb, dripping, onto the shore near Shantytown.

The man propped against a building, watching the bay, smiles at the water dripping off our form, and clutches his bottle tighter, hugging it like a teddy bear. "O brave new world, that has such people in it," he quotes, then waves.

I contemplate face-faulting, then decide not to, wave back, and head into town, walking gently, our feet squishing, expanding in our boots under our weight, and head for the one man dumb enough to justify being stepped on.

Taylor, the commbeetles, and 911 integration, have effectively eradicated non-domestic violent crime.

This, actually, is domestic violence, but it's outside, so even though his boyfriend hasn't called it in — due to lack of commbeetle, apparently — I can still intervene.

We walk, quieter than a man in boots, around the corner, "You don't look so good. Are you OK?"

The boyfriend shakes his head.

"He's not enjoying that, you should stop."

"Mind your own business, bitch! I know he's cheating on me with that skank-" He shuts up as he turns around, and finds himself eyeballs to ankle with us.

We stomp him before he can come to his senses and surrender.

His boyfriend is staring eyes wide, right hand drifting to his bruised face, as we lift our foot off the street, exposing his terrified screams.

"Talk to your boyfriend, don't beat on him," we tell him, as his screams died down to frantic hyperventilation, "If he's cheating, and you can't fix your problems by sharing, find another boyfriend. If he's not cheating, stop freaking out over things that aren't happening."

We turn to the boyfriend, "Pretty close to the same thing, with the addition that letting him beat on you sets a really bad precedent."

We step back, and let the two try and get the man out the street. After a moment I realize he's stuck like a nail in a board, and isn't getting out without help.

I could pull him out with telekinesis, but that would let everyone know . . .

We pull the progressive knife from the right shoulder pauldron, dropping to one knee, and cut a square in the asphalt around the man's hole with the six-foot long clip-point blade, and pry the asphalt off the dirt.

The man wiggles and squirms, but makes little progress. We dig around him, his boyfriend looking worried, but staying a little bit back as we loosen the dirt.

The man flounders, his boyfriend helps, and they get the lightly bruised and noticeably scratched man out of the ground.

"Figure out a better way of resolving your issues," we tell them, then turn and walk back, feeling conflicted.

Stomping a man into the ground like a nail? Pretty cool.

Having to dig him out again? Not so cool.

At least they're gonna fix their problems instead of fighting over them.

-PatB-

A/N: Ziz-Ziz.

Amy knows that Lisa doesn't entirely approve of her design aesthetic, and works around it for her. Compromise for the win!


	56. Chapter 56

-PatB-

I twitch and fidget, restless, eager, annoyed. I enjoy the time off, I enjoy watching Amy, and Lisa, bustle about, spending time with them, the last day of our honeymoon, all two weeks of it, cuddling them, feeling the babies move, but the restlessness has been growing for months.

Lisa's smiling at me, that smirking vulpine grin, the insufferable 'I know what you want to know, are you going to ask?' look. It's been on her face more and more and more for *sigh* as long as this restlessness has been growing.

"What's wrong with me, little miss knows it all?" I finally ask her.

"You need to get in a fight. A difficult one."

I give her my best dumb look, "And where would I find one of those?"

"Toronto. Not quite, but pretty close."

I shift my attention there, look around through commbeetle eyes, "Oh, that's Regent's asshole of a dad."

"So how long until you can take him, and tranq the rest of Regent's moms and siblings?"

"First I have to find them all. Do you have a list, or do I need to ask Regent?"

"I have a list, but it's names only. You'll need his help to identify a lot of them."

I plant a few more bullet ant bushes, some tranq wasps, more cowbells, throughout southern Ontario near the lake. I'll have a good crop in another few weeks.

I pull Lisa into my lap, curl my hands about her swollen tummy, and nuzzle her neck, planting distracting kisses there, even as I look, and smell, around, mapping Nikos Vasil's family.

-PatB-

"I have eighty-three adults and close to three hundred children," I sigh, "I'm quite surprised it isn't worse. There's a couple families in town with eight and ten kids."

"You're missing eight women and fifteen kids. Three of them you need to find before you can safely take him."

"Murfle," I whine at her.

"Bu. Bu bu bu bu," she shifts tone slightly, "Bu bu."

"That was very insightful, Mokona."

She shakes her head, "Bu bu," she says, sadly.

"Oh, sorry," I say, and wrap her in a hug.

"Bu bu!" she says, much happier.

Pinky clumps up the stairs, and slumps on the bed, her armor vanishing into her lens, leaving her in bra and panties, "You are feeding me tonight, right?"

"Bu bu bu bu!" Lisa tells her.

A half-smile twists Amy's lips, "Why is she Mokona tonight?" she asks me.

"Because she thinks it is funny?"

Lisa nods, and says "Bu!"

"Or is it that marshmallow bunnies are supposed to be eaten?" Amy asks, leaning back onto her hands.

Lisa nods again, "Bu!"

"After dinner, I wasn't hungry until a couple hours ago, so I didn't eat lunch."

One strawberry tart without so much rat in it later . . .

Lisa breaks out laughing.

-PatB-

I'm in the center, with Amy on my right and Lisa on my left, jeans, t-shirt, jacket. Amy's in a dress, tights, jacket, and Lisa's just in a dress, with scarf, mittens, and hat, skipping the jacket and tights. It's relatively warm, maybe 25º F, wind's calm, no snow or rain, so she's not getting too many odd looks.

Dinner was good, plenty of animals and vegetables, with a little bit of pasta.

And so, after a brisk half-hour walk, we stand in front of the Cinemark, looking at what's playing.

"J. Edgar," Lisa starts singing, "You ate Bob the hired man while we was at prayer. J. Edgar, J. Edgar, no body's safe from you."

"Yeah, and Edward/Bella? Yuck. Not happening."

"Hugo is supposed to be not bad."

"Total damning with faint praise, there, Taylor."

"And it isn't like we don't have a perfectly good house to go make out at."

"Wanna walk back to the beach and play fetch with Alphonse?"

"Sure, let's do that."

I look at Lisa. She looks over the offerings at the movie theater, and nods, "Yeah, let's go play on the beach."

-PatB-

A/N: I was just looking up the movies for early December 2011 . . . the pickings were pretty slim.

Mokona's from ReiEarth, the strawberry tart without so much rat in it is a Monty Python quote, and the J. Edgar song is by Ry Cooder, but Lisa's mauled it.

17 January 2018: 61,521 words.


	57. Chapter 57

-PatB-

"What's this?" I ask as the unreasonably large dragonfly walks off Amy's hand onto the table.

"Present," She's grinning.

"Non lethal?"

"Not even less-lethal. Impossible cooling powers? I replicated them."

"Oh?"

She bounces, frowns a bit, pats back at her tummy, "You know the scene at the end of Goldeneye?"

"Nope."

"Well, one of the villains, he was all 'I am invincible!' and then the coolant system dumped liquid nitrogen all over him. Instant villainsicle."

"So, instant dead villainsicle in a bug."

"Yep," Amy nods proudly.

"Pretty cool," I fly it over to sit on the TV, and turn to my wife, who's already leading me to the bed, "You make the most awesome presents."

"Thank you," she says, before leaning up to kiss me, turning us so I fall on the bed, and she straddles my thighs.

-PatB-

December 12

Alphonse, because of course you can't change a tadpole's name, even when it transforms into an Evangelion, stands behind us, in her purple and green glory, more than twice as tall as the Zwauth. I'm a bit relieved that, even after reading the more-sane Shinji story, Lisa doesn't feel the need to piss on her enemies. I have a feeling some of the less secure would trigger or suicide at the sight of her pulling out an eva-scale penis.

The ground shudders, and Alphonse checks the antiproton rifle again. We're well past the edge of Bitch's territory, and she's barely clearing out the last of the dogs as Behemoth burrows in like Bugs Bunny.

The ground opens, and a horn emerges. Freeze bugs die as they impact Behemoth's face, an attack no where near a theoretical minus six million kelvin. The air freezes into ice anyway, which the endbringer shakes off with a toss of his head, still mostly underground. There's a flash as the clearing laser blows most of the air out of the attack path, then an even brighter flash as fifty grams of Behemoth's face turn into gamma rays.

The Zwauth shifts it's wings, ten miles away, over the harbor mouth, Amy calls "Zenryouku zenkai," and flares the rockets to full emergency power.

The antimatter beam is tiny, far finer than a human hair, and blows deeply into the endbringer's flesh. The deeper it goes, the denser the matter, the more of the energy transfers instead of escaping. Gamma rays go through steel like light goes through water, but tungsten is a little darker, maybe Kool-Aid. Much of the gamma radiation escapes, but enough of the first shot is trapped to blow a big chunk out of the center of Behemoth"s face.

The second shot, through specialized mushware targeting in Alphonse and Lisa's own bullshit precognition, blows into the same spot, down the same hole, the heavy antiprotons pushing the lighter electrons out of the way. This time, most of the energy is trapped by Behemoth's improbable density, and the *BOOM* blows chunks of improbably dense material in all directions. Everything that isn't covered in Amy's newest armor is vaporized, fifty feet deep, leaving Behemoth slumped at the center of the mile-wide crater.

A rocket-propelled anchor passes Alphonse a split-second before the Zwauth, tiny fins twitching as it dives into the wound, spikes of exotic matter digging into the relatively soft, relatively external layers. The Zwauth spins, too fast for human intervention, rockets flaring back to full burn, slowing, but still too fast as the anchor chain runs out.

Behemoth dissolves into a mound of shiny golden dust, and the Zwauth continues backwards, anchor chain retracting, coming to a stop after nearly a minute, then drifting back. The pile of dust keeps growing, overflowing the crater, flowing down the streets.

"You," Lisa stares at the pile, "Transmuted part of Behemoth into a cubic kilometer of gold. We're looking at nineteen megatons of gold dust."

Amy giggles, "That should distract them from the fact that, again, there isn't a corpse."

"Nineteen megatons."

"That's a lot, I'm guessing," I tease.

"All the gold mined, ever, in the history of the world, is less than 156 kilotons."

"So that's like a hundred times more gold than anyone's ever seen before."

"Pretty much, yeah," Lisa sighs, "Everyone stockpiling gold, because it always goes up?" she laughs her best evil villain laugh.

-PatB-

A/N: The more-sane Shinji story is Rorschach's Blot's "Chicks Dig Giant Robots"

And I totally forgot about the freeze bugs until I re-read this fight to post today.


	58. Chapter 58

-PatB-

We're in Noelle's vault, in Tattletale's lair. I'm barefoot, a little worried, but Lisa and Amy both assured me it would be safe. I give Amy another hug, pat her tummy, get a couple little movements back. We turn to Lisa, who points to her lips, demanding kisses, as usual, before we can hassle her tummy. The tiny pats back . . . Amy smiles back at me across Lisa's stretching tummy.

"Are you ready now, Taylor?" Lisa asks, a tiny smirk on her face, "Last chance to back out before you end up with an endbringer grafted to your spine."

"Call me Hikaru," I say, "Fuu-chan."

Lisa and Amy both laugh.

"Here we go," Amy armors up, her pink-highlighted Guyver armor flowing over her, highlighting the fact that she's almost seven months pregnant with twins. She reaches up with both hands and pulls a dark red-brown sphere from her lens.

It is bigger around than she is tall, and warm, thermal not radiation. I can feel the heat from five feet away. It drops to the floor with a ringing chime and puff of concrete dust. Behemoth tries to regenerate, tiny tendrils extending out, legs, spine, tail, front legs and head from the spine tendril. She slaps a hand back on him, and the tendrils drop to the floor, little puffs of concrete dust rising where they hit.

Layers of core start peeling off like flower petals, the heat dropping away to nothing. The first few petals lay out flat on the floor, getting redder and redder the deeper they come from., looking more and more flowery as they build up, layer upon layer upon layer. A few minutes later there is nothing left but the huge rose bloom she's made, which glows just brightly enough to be noticed under the high-bay metal halide lamps.

I pull off my shirt, then my armor, and drop both onto the floor.

Lisa looks me up and down, and gives me a lustful smile. I smile back, grateful for the distraction, nipples hardening from the cold and a cultivated blush heating my ears.

I shove the skirt down with my panties, and step into the center of the rose, which closes peach-scented petals over me. Before I have a chance to take a breath, much less panic, the petals are laying out flat again. Most of them are gone, only forty left.

"Did it work?" I ask Amy.

"Try it, Nanagou," she tells me, kneeling to gather the last petals back into her lens.

My flesh shifts, and I feel the rocket nozzles, the heat exchangers in my calves, the missile pods on my legs, and I cackle like a madwoman. "She did the eyes, too, right?" I ask Lisa to check.

"Your gorgeous green, with four-pointed pupils and two silver points. Perfect."

I drop the transformation, bodysuit vanishing, and snatch Amy up, spinning us both around until I fall on my butt, Amy laughing as she falls on top of me. I plaster kisses over her until she meets my lips, kisses me until she's breathless.

"Now," Lisa kneels next to us, "We just need to catch your mashin, Umi-chan."

"But Fuu-chan has brown hair," Amy whines.

"And Hikaru is the shortest," I say, "But you gave the wind to Lisa, and fire to me, so."

Amy pouts, sitting back on my hips, then her eyes rake up and down my naked form, and she starts trailing her fingers over my belly.

"Lisa and I are durable enough not to mind sex on the concrete floor, but . . . "

Amy sighs, "Then you need to get dressed!"

I refrain from telling her that's hard to do when she's sitting on me, and raise an eyebrow instead.

She gets to her feet with an "oof" and both hands on my tummy.

-PatB-

I walk the aisle of the candy store, then sigh, and head out again. This shouldn't be that hard, I want to get Amy the best chocolate orange, but no where seems to have any yet! It's the middle of December, I should be able to find one somewhere!

I try another drug store, and find a display with four different kinds of them, all within a dollar of the same price, and almost the same weight. I buy two of each, and head home, swinging the bag as I walk. The clerk wanted an autograph, so I signed her calendar, the March picture, of me in a chair, with Pinky on my right and Tattletale on my left, standing, one hand each on my shoulder, and the other about each other. It's really . . . odd, to be famous, still.

I'll ask Tattletale for the best place to buy good chocolate in town, and check it out when she gets back to me.

-PatB-

A/N: Mayor Skitter, out shopping ^_^

And yes, I keep thinking about cabbage patch dolls when I re-read this, but I was thinking more along the lines of fairy wrapped in a rose . . .


	59. Chapter 59

-PatB-

"Do I have them all?" I ask Lisa.

She smiles and nods, "You do."

I position a commbeetle for each of Regent's family that doesn't have one, and make sure there's epipen wasps close enough. I almost start tranquing them even as I call Dragon's commbeetle, which Defiant wears for her.

"Dragon's commbeetle, Defiant speaking."

"This is Skitter, I'm going to be tranquilizing all of Heartbreaker's family right now, and they will be locatable on a commbeetle network name of "Pick me up". There are a total of ninety one women Heartbreaker's absconded with, and three hundred and eleven kids. Six kids are under six months old, five are six months to a year, and forty-six are one to five years old. I'm not going to tranq them unless they freak out, or seem to be a danger to themselves or others."

"I have told Dragon, and we will be ready to start collecting people in ten minutes."

I wait, twiddling my thumbs.

"We are ready."

Three hundred and forty-five wasps sting at the same time.

Heartbreaker sways, but doesn't go down, so I sting him again.

He drops.

I end up having to sting one of the five-year-olds, but the other little kids keep calm.

Dragon co-ordinates emergency services, her drones, Canadian heroes, Guild, and I form arrows with bugs when anyone gets close enough to see.

-PatB-

"Welcome to the first Winter Solstice Rumble!"

The kids cheer.

"You may have noticed that, although there are 23 gangs participating, there are 24 gangs on the schedule! The Undersiders will be the opening act!"

The kids cheer again.

"Youth gangs have been a constant since the invention of cities — they allow young people to hang out together, work through their aggressive tendencies, and learn adult skills. Over the last hundred years, drug prohibition has warped that, turning an activity focused on socializing and reputation into one focused on territory and profit."

"There is no way to make a profit in a youth gang in Brockton Bay," I pause, laugh, "Or we haven't found one yet."

There's laughter, some of it nervous, from the crowd.

"But it is a lot of fun, you make friends, sing and dance, beat on rivals, all on your own, without any adults telling you what to do."

"What about you? You tell us what we can't do."

"I'm 16, for another half year. I am going to be a father before I'm 17, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to be an adult."

Many of the kids laugh, nodding.

"So, the Undersiders have the first performance, then it will be a single elimination tournament. The prize was chosen by consensus of our gangs: The Undersiders are proving an awesome Solstice dinner, and the winning gang gets to serve, and the other gangs eat in order of elimination!"

The gangs cheer. The gathered adults look nervous.

"So, youth of Brockton Bay, are you ready to rumble?"

The gangs cheer again.

I sing, with Pinky, Tattletale, and Grue for incidental and backup vocals, we pose and dance, with a bit of showing off powers, Imp repeatedly appearing from nowhere for a jump scare. It's awesome, women scream, grown men faint, children cry. The other gangs stand, silent, for almost a minute before they start clapping and cheering.

"Now that we've set the stage, the Jets and the Lizards will be performing. I need a member from each to come up for a coin toss to choose who has the first performance!"

One of the Jets yells, "Let the Lizards go first!"

It takes but a moment for the Lizards to figure out that trap, and yell back, "Let them go first, we're not weak!"

"That's why we're doing a coin toss! Get some representatives up here!"

.b.

The Sharks, the last gang not paired in the first round of combat, and the Ladybugs square off for the final fight.

Both gangs are looking a little worse for wear, bruises, limps, swollen faces and bloody knuckles, but Pinky went through after each round and repaired any crippling or potentially fatal injuries.

Rachel, her mouth bloody, one eye purpling, calls to the other gang, "You had enough rest yet?" as soon as Pinky climbed the steps back to her chair on the stage.

A Shark yells back, "You girls just got done getting your asses beat five minutes ago! Are you so eager to lose?"

"As if we'd lose to a bunch of boys, anyway!" Santana yells back, gesturing with one hand, fingers loosely spread, back of her hand to the other gang.

"I know you're eager, but there's four more minutes of mandatory rest, so rest up or stretch out!" I tell them.

Both gangs groan piteously, but settle.

I wait, watching the clock, "One minute."

"Thirty seconds."

They're all up, glaring, posing, gesturing, psyching themselves up and their opponents out.

"Ten," pause, "Five. Four. Three. Two. Fight!"

They're tired, and moving slower than they did for their first fights, but rush forward eagerly.

The last Shark slumps, unable to get back up, and the three standing Ladybugs grin at each other.

-PatB-

"I recognize the costume, Firestar, from one of the Spiderman cartoons," I say, looking it over in the mirror, "You even got the sound effect right."

"I did," Amy smiles up at me, "But we're going with Firestorm, because that's what's needed for Ellisburg."

"Yep, like Dresden, burn all the oxygen in the air, suffocate and bake everything that I don't reduce to smokeless fire."

I fluff my hair, a lovely mottled flame red, a little long for Firestar, brushing my hips, wispy curls trending upward like flames, "The hair is awesome."

"It is, isn't it," Amy looks to the side, rubs her chin, then turns her eyes up to me with a slow smile.

"You want to play with my hair some more?" I smile back at her.

Lisa floats up the stairs, shoving me towards the bed and stripping the yellow bodysuit off.

"Ooh, kinky," I tell her.

"I approve," Amy says, pulling her shirt up and over her head before following, at a walk, instead of with a jump.

-PatB-

A/N: How are they going to keep finding fights for Skitter?

I find the youth gang as self-organizing youth group idea way too amusing, I'm sure.

20 December 2018: 62,770 words


	60. Chapter 60

-PatB-

"We're almost rich enough to fund a space program," Lisa says, "We don't need baby showers."

"Of course you don't need one," Vicky says, "But we're throwing one anyway. You three just have to show up."

I stare at her, almost certainly making a Kermit the Frog Face of Dubiousness.

Amy chuckles at me, "Lisa and I can take turns sitting in your lap to keep you safe from the fun."

"Thank you," I say, "If you don't I'll go hide if it gets too intense."

Vicky laughs at me, but Amy nods.

Vicky looks at her completely askance, "Skitter's afraid of a baby shower?"

"Skitter doesn't have to go to a baby shower, Taylor does," Lisa explains, "If my parents will be there, I won't."

"We figured that out on our own," Vicky equivocates.

"Meaning my dad told you?"

"And Sabah, and . . . " she trails off, "Eventually Mom agreed that we'd ask you before we asked them. So that's a no?"

"That's a fuck no."

"December 28th, to limit conflicts. Three PM," Vicky says.

"Do I have to?" I whine at Amy.

"No, but if you do I'll make it worth your while," Amy smiles, strokes her neck with the back of her fingers, looks up at me through her lashes.

"Eh," Lisa shrugs, "I want whatever she's having."

I blink at her.

"Neither of you have seen _When Harry Met Sally_," Lisa sighs and rolls her eyes, "We can do a double-feature with _V for Vendetta_."

Vicky is still blushing as she makes her escape.

-PatB-

Flying as Nono is easy, I just go where I want to. No need to breathe, no need to worry about gravity or velocity or human limits, a few hours effort to plop my feet onto a barely-dusty boulder, pose, hipshot, arms crossed over my chest, and realize I have no one to take my picture.

And my phone's terminally unhappy about the moon for one reason or another. Probably it froze. Maybe it cooked. Maybe it didn't like vacuum. Whatever reason, it's entirely non-responsive. My commbeetle is in full hibernation, and I can't get pictures off of it anyway. I shift poses, hands on my hips, feet spread, and sigh, my bangs shifting despite the lack of air to move them.

But, flying as Nono is easy.

Flying as Firestorm?

Hah.

Generating a strong enough thermal to lift my tall skinny self? Difficult without lighting things on fire. Staying on that thermal? Maybe if I knew how to surf, or fly a glider.

Rocket propulsion? Other than that it demonstrates telekinetic powers I don't want to demonstrate, it lights things on fire and is almost as hard to control as thermal-based flight.

And it's slow and weak.

Nono hit the ocean at mach five, and got told off for hurting the whale's ears. Firestorm can't even make a sonic boom straight down with a tailwind.

Totally first-world problem, and probably ungrateful, too.

I cross my arms over my belly, hovering on a jet of superheated air, look at the moon over the open ocean, and sulk anyway.

Oh, I'm doing it wrong. I reshape the fields, conical hat, straight sides, neck in down beneath my feet, then flaring gently until I run out of useful thrust. I dial back the heat until I stop climbing, descend back to where I was, just over the ocean, the bell of my flight field shrinking as I dial back the thrust.

Then I ramp up the heat, growing my exhaust bell as I do, one second, two seconds, three seconds.

I start running out of air at 45 seconds, so I drop the field, coasting outward. I'm really glad I don't need to breathe anymore. I take a deep breath of the extraordinarily thin air, and shift to Nanagou. Seventy miles up and climbing, almost 10,000 miles per hour. Really bad for a normal parahuman.

I suck the kinetic energy out, and fall relatively slowly back to Brockton Bay.

-PatB-

A/N: Amy's birthday is coming up!

21 Jan 2018: 63,279 words.


	61. Chapter 61

-PatB-

A small foot presses into my side, and I tell it, "It's still time for sleeping."

"It's time for running, you lazy-bones," Amy retorts, pushing me again.

"Sleeping."

"Shut up, and get up," Lisa grumbles, "You stayed up all night flying, Amy wants to run, so we run."

"I thought pregnant girls stopped running," I say, and let Amy push me out onto the floor.

"Yeah, if there's a medical indication, and they shouldn't start if they didn't run before they got pregnant."

"So you pressing me into running with you was a risk to the baby?"

"Maybe for a girl who was in worse shape than you and didn't have me to provide maintenance."

"This doesn't do anything for me anymore," Lisa tries this line again.

"It helps you with your balance and skill at running."

-PatB-

"What are we doing for Amy's birthday?"

"Strippers and cake."

"No, really."

-PatB-

"No strippers."

"I found a group who dresses as us."

"No."

"The Tattletale is pretty cute, but the Skitter and Amy are all wrong."

"No strippers."

"It would be funny!"

-PatB-

"You could strip."

Kermit the Frog face.

"I could teach you!"

I drop my chin so I can look up at her through my eyelashes, a silent *are you for real* and *when did you learn about stripping. And how.*

"Dated a stripper before I triggered."

"Weren't you thirteen then?"

"She was only 18."

"What happened?"

"After I triggered I realized that her life goals really were to scrape by and have a kid," she shrugs, looking away, "And I really didn't figure into them at all."

Her hands cross over her belly, shoulders hunching a little.

I guess at what to do, put a hand on her shoulder, give it a squeeze, "Was she pretty?"

"Almost as pretty as Amy," she smiles, "Tall, good shoulders, legs almost as nice as yours, didn't slouch."

"How's she doing?"

"Well enough, last I checked. Alive and not in jail."

"Who broke up with who?"

"I prodded her until she broke up with me."

"You want to hire your stripper ex for Amy's birthday party?"

It's her turn to blink at me, doing a very good impression of surprise.

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you've been talking up strippers for days."

"Um."

"Have you forgotten to look at what we're going to do?"

"I managed to filter you out of my precog, but I'm still watching Amy, because she's still squishy."

"So you don't know what I'm going to do anymore?"

"Not unless I try," she pauses, "It's different than my power, I had to stop caring about all the gross and creepy things it tells me, but I can just tell the precog that I don't want to see certain things, and I won't."

"Gross and creepy?"

"It loves to tell me all about the human excrement in my salads, the likelihood my burger was dropped on the floor, picked up, and put back on the bun, the guy on the corner fantasizing about," she waves her hand down from her neck to her crotch, "The librarian wanting to check us out and take us to her home, the girl at the bookstore who wants me to check her out, the boy at the coffee shop," she shrugs, slouches, bends her knees, and tucks her head under my chin, "It's annoying."

I wrap my arms around her, and lean back, taking a step when the wall's a bit further than I thought, "I hope Amy and I don't make you uncomfortable."

"I trust you two," she laughs, something bitter in her voice, "I can rip anyone," she pauses, "Oh. Fuck."

"What is it?"

"Scion. God damn."

"Lisa?" I twist us side to side, "Use your words."

"Scion is the projection of an interdimensional space alien, and powers are parts of it," she clenches me painfully tight, "And he's gonna get bored and end the world, sooner if Jack tells him to, later if he doesn't."

"Oh," I ponder that a moment, "Amy'll fix it."

She pulls back, hands on my shoulders, and looks up with wide, bottle-green eyes, "How?"

"He's all depressed, so graft him onto you."

"That's fucking crazy," she pauses, then laughs, "But it might work."

-PatB-

A/N: There they were, arguing about whether strippers are appropriate for their wife's 17th birthday party, then Lisa's looking to see if there's anyone she couldn't rip apart if she tried . . .

21 Jan 2018: 64,205 words.


	62. Chapter 62

-PatB-

March

All three of us are on the beach.

People streaming into the endbringer shelters behind us, thick gold radiation shielding layered on the walls inside and over the doors. Far fewer than the last two times, non-essential personnel having been mandatorily evacuated two weeks ago.

Heroes are collecting closer to PRT headquarters, behind heavy shields of thick fourth generation pinky armor laminated on the inside with inches of gold.

The bay is empty, ships pulled into dry dock or another harbor. There's not a ship or boat in the water for a hundred miles, a precaution implemented a month ago.

Three endbringer attacks in a row? In the same city? Impossible. And now we're going for the hat trick.

I'm full Nanagou, prehensile hair and everything, under grey Skitter armor., improbable giant bugs filling in for my buster machine corps. They spread along the beach, dynakinetic shields spread, ready to absorb as much energy as they can, try and limit the damage from close-range nuclear combat.

Lisa's Eva is kneeling to my left, antihelium rifle on her knee.

The Zwauth is on my right.

We watch the bulge of Leviathan's approach.

He's well outside the entrance to the bay when the water bulges upward, a cloud of steam escaping instantly. It's eerily silent.

A brilliant flash from the cloud, then another. Then the noise arrives, *Thoom* long pause *Thoom* pause *Thoom* like a punch in the chest each time,

The Zwauth is already in the air.

Lisa's Eva is tracking something through the radioactive fog,

*Zap-zap* The antihelium rifle's firing is almost as loud as a sixteen inch naval rifle, over two hundred decibels at one meter, but the projectile is far more dangerous.

Another flash of light, about a thousand times brighter, bugs dying all over town, cooked by the thermal radiation, the cloud of mist puffing outward, and another, brighter, not as blocked by the fog, literally blowing the mist away as Leviathan's form flies backward, away from the bay, tumbling in the air. Another of Amy's rocket squids roars in, another flash of light, and the Zwauth grapples Leviathan's battered form, climbing. Quickly there is nothing left in sight but the green flame of the Zwauth's rockets, then that vanishes, too.

*THOOM* bugs inside and behind buildings in the docks die, *THOOM* as buildings collapse near the blast and windows break all over town, sand and smaller rocks driven back by the pressure wave all along the beach.

"Got him," Pinky says over the public channel, and I relax visibly. Lisa's Eva sits down, crosses its her legs, tucking her feet on top of her knees.

I hop up onto one calf, kicking my feet over her shin.

After a while the tsunami from the single ten kiloton underwater detonation washes over the beach, up to the boardwalk, spilling onto the streets.

A few minutes later the Zwauth reappears, wings spread wide, intermittent flares of green helping her control her descent, conserving boron fuel.

She settles onto the beach, sits down on the Eva's thigh, and holds up Leviathan's grey head, the remaining three green eyes glassy and still, "Brought you two a present."

"Are we going to put it in front of city hall?"

"Maybe."

-PatB-

April:

Marquis looks up at the envelope held in front of him.

"For you, from your daughter."

He takes it, reads the laser printed addresses, "Amy, Taylor, and Lisa," turns it and notes that the flap is sealed, opens it with a small blade of bone.

Inside is a folded piece of paper, and several small photographs, obviously printed by a computer.

A wedding picture? with three girls, two of them obviously pregnant. One is tall, slender, with curly black hair, the first pregnant girl is blonde, a little shorter, and the other a shorter curly redhead. He looks at their faces, maybe, the chin and the nose, if she dyed her hair. She's the only one with brown eyes, even if they are unusually pale.

The next picture is of the mothers and babies, the black haired girl standing behind, the babies still the purple-pink of just born, the mothers still in hospital gowns.

The last picture is at a home, the three girls on a couch, a baby held up by each, all three sets of baby blue eyes open, a slightly puzzled look on their pale pink faces.

He opens the other sheet, also laser printed, including the signature.

Hello father,

I hardly remember you.

That's not a reason not to let you know you are a grandparent.

I got married before the little ones were born, but *shrugs* not that important.

Fraternal triplets, Shaia born the 19th, Lisa and Taylor's, Maia, born the 20th, mine and Lisa's, and Leia, born the 21st, mine and Taylor's. Couldn't have managed that better if we tried, but it wasn't at all planned.

If you write, it might be good to learn about you.

Taylor says you should not write back if you're going to be mean about it.

Your daughter, Amy.

5 April 2012

Marquis leans back in his seat, a wry smile twisting his face, such a simple and effective show of power. And Taylor, too, is obviously more than she looks . . . he looks closer at the small pictures, noting the four-pointed pupils, and his smile broadens a little more.

She'll be fine. A tiny worry, nurtured for years, fades.

-PatB-

A/N: Too tired to write last night, and this is the last of what I have written. The triplets are named after characters from Super Dimensional Century Orguss. I don't think they have tails. Amy thinks they'd be cute, Lisa'd be amused, and Taylor's worried they'll be teased about them . . .

I wrote sixty-four thousand words, and posted every day for sixty-two days.

I intend to write more, including:

Amy's birthday party

Nilbog's firestorm

Babies and little kids

Dragon and Defiant cracking the Nine's hideout

Figuring out what to do with hundreds of thousands of Bedem, each with sixteen metal-tipped tentacles, each tip having a 4 tonne yield uranium-damped antimatter warhead

The mindfuck of putting an Entity and a half in a blender, hitting puree, and grafting a third of the resulting mess each onto the base of three young women's spines like a giant monster tail

When I do, I'll likely be re-arranging chapters and editing things.

I'd love to hear what you liked, what you didn't, what was off-putting, what was squicky or seemed excessive or excessively dumb . . .

Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll be back before too long.


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